


The Journal of Fingolfin

by eldritcher



Series: The Journal of Fingolfin [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:33:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingolfin keeps a journal, intending to record his many salacious life-experiences. Unfortunately, his life is swept off far away from his hedonistic ways when his stupid half-brother strides in, ensnares him, and takes him along for the wildest ride of his life - across the Ice, into dark lands. By the time Fingolfin gets a grip on things, Feanor has managed to die in a suitably reckless manner. </p><p>Now begins the greatest misadventure of Fingolfin's life, as he tries to keep the family together, somehow finding tolerance for their ridiculous obsessions and infighting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Journal of Fingolfin

Summary: An account of his family, life and love by Fingolfin, High-King of the Noldor. It traces a long, eventful journey from the city of Tirion to the shores of the Lake Mithrim in Middle-Earth. He speaks of the tumultuous relationship that he shared with Feanor, his brother and of the father-son kinship that characterised his love for Maedhros.

* * *

It is really no secret that my father could not rein in his desires after his first wife’s death. He loved my brother, Fëanáro ; that was very apparent. Still my father was weak enough to marry Indis of the Vanyar. And he did not even stop with one son by Indis, no, he had to continue till he had two sons and a daughter by this second marriage.

Of us, I take after my father in appearance and temperament completely. People say that I am more like my half-brother than my true siblings. Not that I would know. Fëanáro left home after I was born. They say that he stays with Mahtan and learns crafts of the forge. But I have seen his portraits, my father makes sure that there is atleast one portrait of his firstborn in every hall of the palace. And I have seen my half-brother on several occasions when he deigned to visit our father. 

Contrary to what people say, Fëanáro does not despise my mother. It is just that he has no high regard for Vanyar. No Noldo has. He is always courteous to her. Oh, my brother Fëanáro can be a perfect courtier when he wishes to be. I have seen him work his charm on Elves, Maiar and Valar alike.

Fëanáro is kind to me in his own way. He brings me gifts whenever he visits. However he stays away from my younger siblings because they look like my mother, the Vanyarin blood is strong in their veins.

Today my father called me to his side and said happily, “Fëanáro is getting engaged to the daughter of his teacher.”

How like my brother to seduce his tutor’s daughter. I could hardly resist rolling my eyes.

“Wonderful news, Father,” I said smiling politely, “When will we have the marriage?”

“On your begetting day. We shall have his marriage and your coming of age on the same day! What say you, my son?” Father was very excited by this idea.

I did not care. Well, actually I liked this idea. If anything, Fëanáro’s marriage might make my Vanyarin kin stay away during the celebrations. I told my father that I was perfectly in accord with his wonderful idea and made my excuses.

I cannot stop imagining what kind of woman Fëanáro had decided to marry. Was she as headstrong as him?

* * *

This was the day! 

A warm day. I pitied all of us who would have to endure the heavy ceremonial robes for the entire day.

Father came to me saying happily, “Nolofinwë , you must attend to your brother in his wardrobe today. And escort him to the ceremony.”

For a moment, I thought that he was talking of my younger brother, Arafinwë . Then my father’s gentle tone registered on my senses, he never speaks in that tone when Arafinwë was the subject. It must be his beloved firstborn, Fëanáro .

As father was performing the ceremony, there would be no one to escort the groom to the hall. Fëanáro had no kin other than his much despised Vanyarin stepmother’s children. And I am the eldest of them. I did pity that his wedding day should start with time spent in my company.

I made my way to my brother’s chambers and knocked confidently. This confidence is a trait that both of us had inherited from our father. 

“Come in.” His voice was slightly irritated. Probably the only visitor he welcomes is father, who will definitely not knock on the doors.

I entered the room and said in my warmest voice, “Brother, Father has asked me to be your escort this day. I am to assist with your wardrobe and the rest of it.”

He emerged from a side-chamber clad in a simple dark green robe. His obsidian hair was wet from the bath and his eyes glittered as they looked at me curiously. Obviously, I was an unexpected arrival there. 

He nodded saying, “I am grateful for the assistance, Nolofinwë.” He gestured to the suspended robes of pure white colour, “These are the wedding robes.”

I took them down from the open wardrobe and turned to face him again. He had soundlessly removed his robe and now stood naked before me. It is tradition that the grooms and the brides wear nothing underneath their wedding robes. And for once, he seemed keen to stick to tradition.

I could not move. I simply could not. He waited impatiently before me, tossing his head to flick the water droplets from his dark mane. Never have I seen him thus before. He is a magnificent specimen of our kind. Tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed. His sharp aristocratic face was currently marred by a frown. My eyes wandered from his toes to his knees. And then upwards to his firm thighs. I could see the half aroused organ of our gender between his thighs. His hands were on his hips and skilled fingers tapped impatiently against his flanks. I met his gaze.

“If you have quite finished with rating my body, perhaps you might care to help me into those robes?” his voice was sarcastic as ever, but there was honest curiosity there. Probably he was wondering what exactly made me stare at him like this.

“You are beautiful,” I said boldly as I passed the robes over his head.

His voice was slightly muffled by the clothes over his mouth as he replied matter-of-factly, “I know.”

Trust my brother to know that he is beautiful! He is insufferably proud and I find that extremely attractive.

“I am sorry that I forgot to wish you a happy coming of age,” he offered as he tried to tie a sash behind him.

“I forgot it myself in the clamour of the wedding”, I smiled and placed my fingers over his as we tried to tie the knot together. I noticed that I was almost as tall as he was. My fingers ‘accidentally’ brushed over his spine. He shuddered, but did not comment. I deepened the caress. Why didn’t he complain?

Emboldened and desire-struck, I craned my neck around and tried to snatch a kiss. My lips met his cheek. I expected him to throw me to the floor in disgust. That is what he did usually when the naïve fools of my father’s court tried to touch him.

I was surprised, very surprised, when he turned around and met my gaze in honest confusion. Trying to get a grip on myself, I busied myself with the ornamental ties in the front of his robes. Fëanáro did not say anything, but stood still waiting patiently for me to finish.

“Is your bride as beautiful as The Broidress?” I asked as I pressed him into a seat before the mirror and began combing his hair. It was softer than my own.

I did not expect him to reply. As Father says, my brother is a genius. And all geniuses are eccentric. He is rarely capable of idle talk. But I had to say something to cover my own discomfort. Why did I have to notice his physical perfection on his wedding day?

“Nerdanel is not the epitome of feminine beauty.” He smiled at the mirror amusedly, “But her will is strong. She can make a better soul out of me.”

“I don’t think there is anything to be bettered in you, you are as perfect as they come,” I shrugged, “But she is welcome to try.”

“Nolofinwë ,” Fëanáro stared at my image in the mirror, “Are you well today? You act stranger by the moment.”

 

We went to the ceremony hand-in-hand. I was so proud; proud of my brother who looked like a young god; proud of myself, after all I was the one chosen to assist him in this. I got my first glimpse of Nerdanel. She was beautiful in the Noldorin way. Her dark brown hair and brown eyes shone brightly. 

Fëanáro was right though, she did not compare to The Broidress. But Nerdanel seemed stronger in spirit than the ill-fated lady who still held our father’s heart. That was good. It cannot be easy to live with Fëanáro.

I could not help noticing that she paled in beauty and magnificence when she stood next to my brother as they made their vows.

* * *

Father had hoped that the marriage would curb Fëanáro ’s wanderings. It was not true. If anything, Nerdanel seems to love traipsing in the woods and the wild lands with her husband. They make a pair. Father is out of ideas to make his heir stay in the palace. 

But the news; Nerdanel is with child. She came to the palace. Fëanáro followed her. But as father says, Fëanáro cannot be stationary anywhere for more than a day. He wished to pay a visit to Alqualondë. And father appointed me as his companion for the trip.

I had experimented in the ways of the flesh with elves of both genders. But none of them compared to the magnificence of my brother. My dreams of him were hardly appropriate. I wanted to stay away from his flame. I begged father to let me stay in the palace. Arafinwë was old enough to accompany Fëanáro!

“Do you hate Alqualondë?” Fëanáro asked me as I ran into him in the library.

“No,” I said honestly, “Why do you ask, brother?”

“Do you hate travelling?” he asked persistent.

“No,” I admitted, “I love riding.”

“Then why do you say you cannot come with me to Alqualondë?” he asked incredulously, “Do you hate me?”

For all his talents, Fëanáro is rather blind to my faults. He has never noticed my covert admiration for him. He has certainly made nothing of the times we embraced as per protocol. I would prolong the contact and furtively caress his back. He has never noticed or perhaps, everyone treats him the same way. 

“I will come with you to Alqualondë,” I said finally as his dark eyes bored into my own, “It will be my greatest pleasure.”

So we went to Alqualondë. Travelling with him is bliss, I discovered. He talked incessantly on matters ranging from politics to fishing. He told me tales of lands beyond the sea, the lands from where our father had come. It was pure joy to watch him talk. He would move his arms in forceful gestures. His eyes would glitter with passionate fervour and his face would be flush with determination.

He is a poor listener. Not that I mind, but still, he is a poor listener. He has firm opinions of everything. And he doesn’t care for other views. 

“Only one of us can be right, Nolofinwë,” he would say confidently when I dared to voice a different opinion, “And I know I am.”

I wonder where he gets this damn confidence from. For his sake, I hope all his opinions are always correct. One day, he will be King. I don’t want him to be a poor ruler because of his adamant pride. Somehow, I don’t think he will have a nest of advisors in the court.

* * *

We returned from the trip and found Nerdanel in labour. Father was predictably excited at this. My mother was in a sullen temper, as was Arafinwë . 

If Fëanáro’s child was a son, then I would be demoted from the second in line for the throne to the third in the line. Not that I care. We are elves. And Father is going to rule us till the end. If he gets bored, he can ask Fëanáro . It would be funny to watch my brother sitting impatiently on the throne all day thinking of all the things he could have done to better occupy his time.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by the sharp cries of a young voice. Masculine, I shook my head wryly; Fëanáro was skilled enough to make an heir at his first attempt.

“Nolofinwë !” Fëanáro rushed to the antechamber of his wife’s bedroom and found me pacing, he was fresh from the forge, clad in only leggings, his white torso covered by soot and ash. I have never seen him so excited. 

“It is a son, brother.” I smiled at his impatient form. 

He cried out in joy and ran across the room to embrace me. I rolled my eyes, only Fëanáro would think that people loved to hug him when he was covered with soot and sweat. My new robes were probably ruined, but I had to laugh at his enthusiastic actions and I hugged him back. I was as tall as he was now, I noticed absently. My hands raked through his hair and down his sweat-slicked spine before grasping his hips. 

My touches over the years have become gradually bolder though he has never noticed. My brother is blind to everything but himself and his achievements. 

We moved apart when the door opened and father came out carrying a swathed bundle. Ten white, wiggling toes protruded out from the clothes. Reverently, I moved to father’s side. The greyest pair of eyes I had ever seen in life stared up at me. Those eyes had wisdom and determination. The eyes of The Broideress.

“Eru!” Fëanáro whispered as he touched the sharp nose of his son hesitantly, “He has your features, Father, except for the eyes and the hair. Nobody has such hair in the family or even in the whole of Aman!”

Father chuckled as I gasped at the hair, it was brilliant red. Fëanáro was right; nobody had such hair in Aman! Nerdanel’s father had hair the colour of auburn. It did not bear the remotest comparison to this wild red plumage.

“His mother named him ‘Maitimo’,” Father informed us, “And an excellent name it is! I must say that he is more beautiful than you were, Fëanáro.”

Fëanáro looked as if he was going to protest. Only my brother would be unhappy because Father said his just-born grandson was more handsome than his son. He is that egocentric. 

I hastily asked, “What will you name him, Fëanáro?” 

“Nelyafinwë!” Father answered proudly, “The third of my line! Now, Fëanáro, take your son. I must see to the celebrations!”

It was one of the few moments in my life when I felt like strangling my father. How could he callously name his grandson the third when his second-born son was perfectly alive? If it had been Fëanáro’s words, I could have understood. My brother has never cared about hurting others’ feelings. But Father is supposed to know better.

“Nolofinwë”, Fëanáro’s voice was subdued as he stared down wonderingly at the work of his loins, “Will you hold him? I must see my wife.”

“Certainly.” I took the bundled up elfling from my brother’s hands and watched him enter the room. 

I was still wondering how my mother and siblings would react to my nephew’s name when a light something brushed against my hand. I looked down. The child was smiling trustingly at me. I was afraid but reached to caress the smooth cheek. A tiny fist reached up to hold my finger in place. 

I looked amazed at the wonder in my arms, red-haired and grey-eyed. He did not resemble Fëanáro. But that did not make him less beautiful, I discovered, as the grey eyes met my own innocently. 

“Russandol”, I whispered as I ruffled the red curls on his head.

* * *

It has been a wonderful time. Fëanáro and Nerdanel continue their wanderings and visit the palace only in the harsher weather. Father tries to make them stay, always in vain. My brother’s marriage is still the talk of Tirion. Every five years, Fëanáro and Nerdanel bring forth another son. Now my father has five grandsons. 

Russandol, fondly called ‘Maitimo’ by us, stays in the palace and does not join his parents in their wanderings. I was his teacher in lore, riding, sparring and the affairs of the court. Occasionally father would tutor him. But after a few years, it became clear to us that he is a quick learner and can hold his own in any court. The relationship between him and me has evolved into an easy comradeship. We share the heir’s duties as the said heir is now in Aulë’s land learning new skills for his forge.

Of Russandol’s brothers, Macalaurë stays with us. He is an ardent admirer of his elder brother; it reminds me of my youthful fascination for Fëanáro. The younger siblings are with their parents.

* * *

Of late, I have been goaded by my mother and my father to make an alliance. It is necessary. Fëanáro had, as usual, cared for neither politics nor alliances when he married Nerdanel. So the onus was on me to make a worthy alliance to stabilize the fragile balance of the court. 

My brother Arafinwë had already married Olwë’s daughter. His influence in my father’s court was steadily increasing. The courtiers trusted his gentle counsel more than they trusted father’s words. Fëanáro was a long absent heir. Russandol was not old enough to claim his privileges. And the fact that I had not married even when all my siblings had did not endear me to anyone.

I have nothing against marriage. So I have asked my parents to find me a bride. Whoever it is, I shall marry without question, it is my duty as a prince. Why then am I feeling terribly unhappy?

“What are you thinking of?” Russandol joined me on the balcony. 

His rich, red hair was braided back into a single plait. Probably he had spent the day riding through the city with Macalaurë. I watched his long loose-limbed figure as he leant against the railings. Grey eyes stared at me half-amusedly. As I scrutinized his face, I could see only traces of Fëanáro. There was nothing of Nerdanel. Russandol seemed to take after my father more than any of us did. He brushed off dust from his deep blue robes and watched me expectantly.

“I must marry.” I shrugged as I turned fully towards him, “And I find now that I don’t feel much enthusiastic.”

“Have they found anyone?” he asked me, “The last I heard of this, Grandfather was trying for a Vanyarin woman.”

“Hmmm…” I mumbled. “He has a thing for Vanyarin women. However they don’t appeal to me, Russandol.”

He laughed at my crude comment and said good-humouredly, “I met cousin Findaráto at the market. He is in the throes of puppy love. He asked me for advice and he asked Macalaurë for a love poem.” Russandol rolled his eyes, “A girl of Olwë’s court it is. If you don’t hurry, Nolofinwë, your nephew might marry before you do. The rumour mills of Tirion will love it though.”

I groaned and said gloomily, “They have decided on Lady Anairë. All I am required to do is to make an appearance at my own wedding.”

“It must be true, for grandfather has asked me to summon father,” he said sympathetically, “My father is returning, this time for good. He has written to me asking me to ready a forge here. That is partly why I sought you now. My mother’s health weakens. Yet father wishes to have more children. You must speak to him.”

“I have no hold over him, Russandol.” I sighed, “I will talk to my father. Maybe he can make Fëanáro see sense.”

The wise grey eyes measured me carefully before he said, “You care for my father more than anyone else. It is not your fault that he chooses not to see. Marry her and may your union be blessed.”

“How did you know?” I asked amazed. 

I was not afraid that he knew. I was confident that he would keep it a secret as long as I wished him to. Russandol, despite his sincere efforts to blend into our family, is different from the rest of us. He has an amazing sense of chivalry and discretion that will one day make him an excellent ruler. He is proud, but kind and just. And he has the patience of a saint which is needed to survive his unconventional parents. Macalaurë drowns himself in his music inhabiting a world that existed only to him. Carnistro, Tyelkormo and Atarinkë are souls that take after Fëanáro . Only Russandol is pragmatic and if I may admit it to myself, he is the true prince amongst us.

“I have watched you staring at Macalaurë,” Russandol said after a long pause, “I thought you were attracted to him.” I looked at him shock as he continued quietly, “Then I understood. Of us, only Macalaurë resembles father perfectly.”

“There was nothing between your father and me,” I said steadily, “I was young and naïve. And he was a flame drawing me near. I will marry Lady Anairë and this conversation, my dear Russandol, will be a pleasantly amusing memory in a year’s time.”

* * *

So it was. I married Anairë in a ceremony of pomp and splendour. Between us, father, Russandol and I managed to persuade Fëanáro to permanently move into the palace with his children. 

It was after Fëanáro had settled in the palace that we discovered the true extent of his passion and virility. The sounds from his bedchamber made even father blush. His nightly activities resulted in a slew of children in the palace. Arafinwë fathered four more children much to Findaráto’s dismay. And I managed three. Fëanáro, to all our amazement, did not announce another heir. 

Let me describe our house now. Father is still devoted to Míriel Serindë’s memory. He is still besotted with his firstborn. If at all he shows his affection to anyone else, it is to Russandol, arguably the best work of his parents’ loins.

Fëanáro and Nerdanel are much occupied with their forge. Their three youngest sons aid them in this matter. There are many admiring disciples too. Fëanáro speaks with me, he is devoted to father, he dotes on his sons and avoids Arafinwë like the plague.

My sons get along well with all their cousins. But Findekáno has a strong attachment to Russandol. Of course, their age difference was exactly the same as the age difference between Fëanáro and I. Ironic, how things move in circles.

My daughter harbours a strong attachment to Tyelkormo. But she is as wilful as Fëanáro. So I will not speculate on her love life lest she marries a Vanyarin lad to just prove me wrong.

Of Arafinwë’s sons, Findaráto is Russandol’s kindred spirit. They are both gentle souls. Arafinwë’s younger sons are all Findekáno’s friends. Arafinwë’s daughter, Artanis, is a surprise. I think he adopted her, for she has none of his qualities. 

Only Russandol, Macalaurë and Artanis remain unfettered by sordid love affairs. Russandol considers his duty to maintain a clean reputation. Macalaurë, I don’t think the lad has it in him to love anyone more than his music. Artanis says that she will marry only when it suits her fancy. Of course, all three use my illustrious example to shield themselves. Didn’t Nolofinwë marry late?

To make this family more interesting, Fëanáro and Nerdanel announced the birth of twin sons on the occasion of Findaráto’s engagement. Nerdanel seemed exhausted yet victorious as she stood beside her husband.

* * *

“He wants a daughter,” Russandol told me conversationally as we watched Findaráto tutor my sons, “And she wants no more.”

“Isn’t it embarrassing when they do this and you are given the next bedchamber?” I asked him indignantly, “They must stop.”

“Tell him.” Russandol asked seriously, “You are the only one he might listen to. Grandfather will not cross him. Please, Nolofinwë,” his eyes met mine, “She cannot bear him more children. I had sent for Lord Mahtan. He is here now with grandfather. You must tell father that she leaves immediately.”

Thus I found myself in my brother’s forge at a loss for words the next day. I cleared my throat and walked to his side. He was near the furnace, bent over his workdesk, studying an alloy. My dear self-absorbed brother had not even noticed that I was present.

For a moment, I admired the sight before me. He wore only a pair of cream leggings rolled up to his knees. The muscles rippled underneath his flawless skin as he moved his weight from one foot to the other. His dark hair was braided back severely allowing him greater freedom. Sweat glistened on his body and his leggings clung to his skin. I could see every detail of his thighs and higher up vividly. 

Hesitantly I reached out to catch a drop of sweat making its way torturously down his spine. My touch made him mumble an inarticulate welcome. Not bothering to raise his head from his work, he snaked his arms backwards catching me unaware and he twisted his body with his lips partly open for instigating a kiss. When he saw me, he stiffened in shock. I did not hesitate as I moved forwards and captured his lips in a kiss I had till then only dreamt of. 

It set me on fire. I did not know why my hands gripped his waist so hard, or why I was moaning into his open mouth, or why my tongue was chasing his tongue in a primal fashion. He gasped and pulled away. I was panting as he fell back on his work desk. My nostrils flared in desire as I stared at the picture he made. He seemed not to realize the implications and settled himself into a cross-legged position on the desk.

“My apologies,” he offered with a slight crimsoning of his cheeks, “I thought you were not who you are.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his flowery line. It was obvious that he was stunned speechless by the passion. Whenever he is shocked, he covers up by this ornate nonsensical language. Right then, he was shocked to have mistaken me for Nerdanel. He didn’t realise that I, on my part, had done it deliberately. He could be so blind, my brother.

“I came to speak of your wife”, I said more calmly than I felt, “Her father has asked us to let her stay under his roof until she is recovered from this latest birth.”

“Who is he to say that?” Fëanáro asked incredulously, “If I can make seven sons with her, then I can certainly take care of her!”

“Father has given him permission to fetch her away,” I said in a reasonable voice, “Surely, as her father, he has the right to see to her wellbeing.”

“I cannot stay parted from her even a night!” Fëanáro spluttered angrily, “I would turn into a mad wreck! I need her.”

“Really, Fëanáro,” I smiled amusedly at his passionate anger, “You know that partings merely increase love!”

“You speak as if you have experience,” he said imperiously, “And yet the way you frequent the taverns and rejoice in male company hardly speaks of your love for Anairë, does it?”

“My brother,” I laughed, it was amusing that he had observed atleast something about me, “I did not marry her for love.”

“Why would you marry without love?” his brows were knitted together in honest bewilderment.

“I have had to do things like this all my life, Fëanáro. That is because you always take the easy way out. As a crown prince, it was your duty to marry a suitable lady of high lineage. You cared nothing and married for love. So I was left to exchange vows with a woman I don’t love.” I sighed at his confused expression. “Father has always let you have your way, Fëanáro. Your freedom is brought by the toils of your firstborn and I. We shoulder your duties. And we certainly don’t have the liberty to marry whom we love.”

“You should have told me!” he exclaimed ashen-faced, “I thought you loved her! I did not know! That is why you were so late in marrying, you loved someone else.”

“Finally Fëanáro, you see me”, I muttered angrily, “Now I came here to tell you that Mahtan will take his daughter away for a while. You might want to make your farewells to her.”

* * *

I met Russandol after Nerdanel’s departure. Fëanáro was being coddled by our father who simply could not stand to see his beloved son unhappy. Macalaurë was talking earnestly to Artanis. I wondered briefly what the two cold fish were discussing. Turkáno and Irissë were feeding the pigeons. Findekáno was standing near the fountain, playing random tunes on his harp, and staring soulfully at Russandol.

“Your son must marry,” Russandol whispered to me as we walked away into a more secluded corner, “The situation is deplorable. He is my favourite cousin and my best friend. But I have never felt passion for him. I have tried to feel lust for him, but I cannot.”

“Marriage won’t help matters, Russandol,” I said convinced, “I should know, having tried it. And it is better you don’t feel desire for Findekáno. Fëanáro will have all our hides.”

“What did father say to unnerve you so?” he asked me sympathetically, “You look ‘spooked’ as Irissë might say.”

“We kissed.” I confessed quietly. Somehow talking to Russandol was like talking to a healer. He could make me be at ease and he was a wise, unbiased counsellor. I wish he returned Findekáno’s love. There was nobody more worthy of my son. Right now, he tacitly kept silent knowing that would make me less flustered.

“He thought I was Nerdanel. I thought my secret was out. He, being the blind fool that he is, predictably refused to see what was before his very nose.” I rubbed my temples in disgust, “I was lucky! If he had realized!”

“I cannot judge,” Russandol said quietly, “He is my father and you are my foster-father in almost all senses. For now, why don’t you retire? I will make our excuses and send one of your friends to your chambers. Your children are all occupied. And Lady Anairë is in her father’s house. Go on, I will manage this.”

I obeyed him with alacrity. He does not condemn people. That is what I admire in him the most. A part of me was still warm; he had called me his foster-father! I think it was then that I realized that I loved him more than I loved my own children. Well, there is the fact that none of my children would volunteer to find a bedpartner for me.

* * *

I am worried. Nerdanel has refused to return to my brother. However all their sons stay with my brother. Russandol visits his mother occasionally and is often berated by Fëanáro when he returns. But none of the younger sons visit Nerdanel. Macalaurë would, I think, but he is not keen to face his father’s anger, something I understand completely.

Of my own family, there is good news. Turkáno has married and sired a daughter. He is an active member of my father’s court. His tastes, I suspect, are partial to his own gender, but he is one for appearances. Findekáno, I have lost hope of him becoming anything other than Russandol’s acolyte. He is valiant, but impulsive and too devoted to his cousin. Irissë, well, let me just say that I am grateful that her bedroom is not near mine. I have no idea why she doesn’t marry Tyelkormo if she likes him enough to share her bed with him on a daily basis.

Arafinwë is almost the king of Alqualondë. He loves the Teleri. I am glad that he stays away from the palace. It is easier to put up with Turkáno’s ‘wisetalk’(Irissë’s unrestrained, self-authored words are useful at times) than Arafinwë’s preaching. Findaráto has not yet married his sweetheart, I think he is waiting for Russandol to marry. As I have said before, Findaráto is a chivalrous elf. He obviously considers it bad manners to marry before his older cousins do. The rest of his siblings are not bothered by his views. They have all married except for Artanis. She remains immersed in lore and healing arts. Now, I could have used a daughter like that. 

My half-brother’s family is falling apart terribly. Fëanáro is increasingly becoming sullen and rarely steps out of his forge. Russandol tries to take on the heir’s duties, the council debates and the army concerns. I know that I am not much helpful to him. My brother’s proximity is maddening me and I spend my days in wild carnal acts. Findekáno, being my faithful son, follows in my footsteps. I shudder to think that he might be bedding someone I have bedded or vice-versa. Macalaurë rarely stirs from his music and if he ever deigns to join us in court, he spends the time berating those who dare to question his beloved elder brother. Tyelkormo is with my daughter always. Atarinkë has married and sired a son. He is the one blessed with all the forge skills. Fëanáro dotes upon him. Carnistro, I think he was conceived during one of my brother’s and Nerdanel’s arguments. So dark-tempered is this nephew of mine. The twins are carefree souls of no use to court and forge.

“NOLOFINWË! Where is the list of ---” Fëanáro shouted as he strode into my room, I hastily pulled the coverlet on my naked form. I had been engaged in certain pleasurable activities and my partner was in the bath chamber. For a moment, I smiled wryly at my brother’s disregard for closed doors and privacy.

“Yes?” I tried to extricate my robe from the mess on the large bed hoping fervently that my partner would have the sense to leave through the door in my bath chamber.

“Why are you sleeping naked in the bed at noon?” His voice was incredulous, “Have you any sense of your duties?” He gestured with his hands dramatically, “We are princes and we must help father rule!”

“What has brought on this sudden realization?” I asked wearily, resigning myself to one of his periodic outbursts of enthusiasm, “Russandol has taken on my duties today. I am not well, Fëanáro, and thought to spend the day resting.”

“OH!” he asked concernedly, “What is wrong with you?” he came nearer, his eyes wide with honest worry. 

My breathing hitched. He was, I noticed absently, clad in black silken robes that complemented his fair features and dark hair admirably. For once, he looked like a prince and not like the dishevelled smith. He seemed to be more worried by my increased breathing and solicitously placed a warm palm on my bare shoulder, squeezing it in sympathy.

“I will be all right.” I assured him; I had to get him out of the room as soon as I could before things became messy. Why hadn’t Russandol warned me that Fëanáro had decided to play the prince today?

My brother was becoming increasingly excited. He was in one of his moods. I sighed as he sat down on the bed and began looking me over in his intense way. I wish I had asked Artanis to teach me mindspeak. I needed Russandol to get his father away from me immediately.

“Nolofinwë,” Fëanáro was speaking forcefully, “I think I should examine you. I have some skill in healing.”

“I don’t want to waste your time, Fëanáro,” I said as sincerely as I could fake, “I will ask Russandol to examine me later.”

“Maitimo doesn’t have half my skill in healing,” Fëanáro said dismissively, “You deserve the best, and Nolofinwë, I am the best here.”

I resisted the urge to groan as he pulled the coverlet away. I was aroused unbearably. But knowing his customary naivety to all things that did not involve himself, I could only hope that he would ignore the reaction to his presence.

“Ah!” he peered down at me sympathetically and patted the aroused area with his right hand, “I think you are also missing your wife, Nolofinwë.”

“Fëanáro!” I hissed and made to slap his hand away. 

He held my hand captive with his left hand firmly and stared into my eyes. I gulped and tried to look away. But his dark eyes were as hypnotic as a snake’s holding a bird thrall. I felt hunted. Fëanáro silent was as dangerous as Fëanáro eloquent. 

He smiled sardonically and whispered, “I do not think that my touch would be repulsive to you when you have already been touched by far lesser elves.”

I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the hot tears of humiliation that threatened to escape me. Clearing my throat I said coldly, “I think you have employed your healing skills enough, Fëanáro. Now leave and let me be. What I choose to indulge in my own bedroom is not your concern.”

If there is one thing that my brother is not, that is obedient. His eyes flashed in anger as he said scornfully, “I did not mean to pry, Nolofinwë. But all the same, I must say that it is disgusting.”

“FËANÁRO!” I shouted furiously and gripped his wrists in blind fury. 

He snarled contemptuously and tried to wrest free from my iron grip. He was strong; in a normal duel with me he would have stood a chance. But now I was fuelled by desire, anger and humiliation, all the baser emotions. He struggled in vain to get his hands free, his eyes widening in surprise at my strength. His fierce efforts to get himself free simply enraged me. I have some recollection of launching myself on him. He fell back with a groan, bearing the weight of my body.

He opened his mouth to curse me, but I snarled and wildly clamped my lips over his. He struggled underneath me before falling limp. His eyes were half-closed and his nostrils were flared. The utter folly of my actions struck me then. Hastily, I pulled away from him taking a deep breath to calm myself.

His hands gripped my waist holding me in place. Arching upwards, he claimed my lips with a fire unmatchable. I could feel myself burning in his flame. I racked my brains for the reasons why I should not give in, but thinking was becoming increasingly unappealing as he diverted his lips to my eartips. 

“Stop it!” I panted when he bent to press his lips to my neck, “Fëanáro, this is absurd. It is,” I halted, “Against the laws.”

“I have never cared for the law,” he murmured seductively running calloused fingers along my back while impatiently stripping off his robes with the other hand, “You started this, my foolish brother, and I will see it done, on my terms.”

He was everything I expected and more. Passionate, wild, unrestrained and feral. I am afraid that his unsuppressed cries of pain and pleasure reverberated through the entire palace. When he finally lay back, spent and satiated, I watched him in concern and fear. Somehow, he seemed vulnerable and younger. His eyes had none of their usual scorn and smugness. They were warm and uncertain as they regarded me. 

“I never thought that you were inclined towards my own tastes;” I offered hesitantly, “Especially as you are devoted to your wife.”

“I love her,” he said simply, “but I have never felt so passionate while with her. I have never been so relaxed and exhausted after an act of coupling like I am now”. He gingerly rose to lean his upper torso against the head of the bed, “I feel thoroughly worked out, I imagine this is how a horse feels after a good ride.”

I smiled for his benefit and searched his eyes for a clue of what he was actually thinking. He loved her, I knew that. But I didn’t know how I would take it if he just discarded the entire thing as if it had not happened.

He seemed to be flustered by my intense scrutiny and raked a hand through his tousled hair. Clearing his throat, he picked up a clean robe from my wardrobe and slipped it on. He did not look back at me as he left, closing the door gently after him. 

I groaned as I fell back upon my messed-up bed and threw a hand over my eyes in furious despair. What had I expected from my self-preserving brother?

* * *

Russandol said quietly, “I don’t know why you think that he will listen to my views on this matter.” He paused as if carefully thinking something over. “You do realize that it cannot be easily hushed if they know the truth.”

I nodded miserably and retired to my rooms. Fëanáro’s heady scent still lingered in the chamber. Of course, I thought, the torn robes he had left behind. Amusing how he had lost only a set of robes while I had lost the better part of my reputation.

The loud activities had brought the entire family to my door seeking an explanation. Russandol had tried to grant me some privacy. But father chided me before my own children and nephews saying that I had no discretion to indulge in such things in the daytime. Fëanáro had left for his forge in his usual sullen temper. Of course, nobody would suspect that he had been my partner.

Findekáno was sympathetic, (as he well should be given his own activities), he arranged for a warm bath to be drawn in my rooms and played his harp for me. Honestly, his skills at the harp are poor; I have no idea why Russandol encourages him. Turkáno had merely huffed indignantly and left. Of course, he has never been much appreciative of his parents. Irissë, I cringe to remember her words, she had virtually danced in glee. Apparently, the fact that I had been caught simply gave her the go-ahead for bolder experiments with Tyelkormo. I do hope that Fëanáro does not find them. He can be naively overprotective when it comes to his brood of sons.

It was Macalaurë’s reaction that surprised me. He is usually impervious to the court intrigues. I doubt that he would stir an inch even if his parents did the entire primal dance before his long nose. He is that uninterested. So it is shocking that after the family had left my room he came to my side and patted my shoulder in a gesture of support. Maybe Russandol had asked him to do that. Anyway I was so angry with Fëanáro that seeing his second son who resembled him so much just made me glare.

* * *

I have put the entire thing out of my mind and once more, I have returned to my father’s side in court. Now that both Russandol and I are present, there is less conflict at court. I do wish that Fëanáro never becomes king and that he directly abdicates in favour of my nephew if he ever does. Russandol will someday make a great ruler.

Arafinwë has returned to the palace from Alqualonde. This time, my wife has come with him. I wonder why. I do hope that it is not another conspiracy at court. But I fear it is. Nothing else would bring my younger brother away from the seaside city. Moreover, Findaráto is not with him. So definitely not a noble purpose. As for my wife, she told me quite frankly that she has a Vanyarin lover. Why am I not surprised?

For now, I shall put it out of my mind and spar with Findekáno. It is Russandol’s elegant solution to keep both me and my firstborn away from the pleasures of the flesh. I wonder if my dear nephew knows of the allures of the flesh. He is a staunch abstainer. He occasionally indulges in trivial fireside affairs but I am sure that he has never done the full blown act. (Findekáno told me this confidential information, he should know as he stalks his cousin everywhere.)

I returned to my chambers after a long argument with Arafinwë, who accused me of infidelity (apparently, he has made this discovery only now), of not being a model parent to my children (as if Irissë would have listened to me anyway), of being Fëanáro’s acolyte (if poor Arafinwë knew of the actual extent of my devotion, he would be scandalized) , of being Russandol’s staunchest supporter (that is one of the few things I am proud of being) and finally of not being a worthy descendant of Finwe (I refrained chivalrously from mentioning that I looked truly Noldorin while he took after our Vanyarin mother).

I was about to dive into my bed and summon sleep when my sharp nose picked up a familiar scent. I walked to the mantelpiece and found a scroll tied up with a strip of leather. I looked at it for a moment as if it would suddenly turn into a snake and strike out at me viciously. Then I ran out of my rooms calling for Russandol.

Together we stared down at the scroll. Then finally I nodded at him. He smiled at me nervously and picked it up. Clearing his throat once, he began to read out the letter in his melodious voice.

 

_“Nolofinwë,_

_I wished to tell you that I regret_ (I am sure that I cringed here, for Russandol paused and placed his palm on my hand) _having left your rooms in such haste that day. I was overwhelmed by what had happened. I understand that our family has rebuked you; half the condemnation should have been mine to bear. I wish that you would accept my sincere regrets._

_Curufinwe Fëanáro.”_

 

“Well?” I asked the world in general as my companion scrolled back the letter.

“This is the closest my father has come to an apology, I daresay, and I am inclined to preserve this scroll for eternity,” Russandol met my eyes as he continued in a more solemn tone, “What will you do?”

“Nothing.” I shrugged. “Seeing him again will just make matters worse. I turn into this unrecognizable carnal brute when I am alone with him.”

“Not seeing him is a mistake.” Russandol sighed, “You know as well as I how much it would have cost him to write this apology.”

He was right. My brother had brought himself down from his lofty pedestal for the first time in his life.

* * *

I found him in the forge standing melancholically near the furnace. The firelight played on his face unflatteringly. Taking a deep breath, I entered and walked to stand beside him. He looked up at me in mild surprise before redirecting his eyes to the furnace again.

I was about to start talking when he said quietly, “Melkor has offered to teach me how to harness a living force in a non-living object. After much consideration I have agreed to be his pupil.”

“I don’t think you should go to him, brother.” I said uncomfortably, all my instincts on the alert. Melkor seemed to be reformed, but I have never been able to trust the old blackguard. 

“I don’t think I should either.” He shrugged. “But I am curious, no, I am thirsty to know that. And Manwë will not teach me. I asked him if he opposed the idea of Melkor teaching me the same. Manwë said it was fine. I have no choice. My work is all I have, Nolofinwë. I am a poor son, a poorer husband and the poorest father. Of course, I am the worst half-brother. Family is not my strength, my work is my life.”

His unexpected and unusual words caught me by surprise. Such humble statements are not his signature style. They suit our modest nephew Findaráto better. 

“I think you are a fine son; Father dotes on you. He has always loved you the most,” I pointed out, “And your sons have all stood by you always. So you have done well in raising them. I don’t think that my children will unanimously ever support me. Indeed their main goal in life seems to be rebelling against me. I have always considered you a full brother in heart.” I decided to modify this statement because he was staring rather disbelievingly at me. “I mean, ultimately, this family loves you.”

“Arafinwë hates me.” He remarked as he turned to face the fire.

“He hates me too, if that is any consolation to you.” I offered sincerely.

“Nolofinwë, you have a better reason to hate me than he does,” Fëanáro said quietly, “Perhaps you do hate me.”

“Do you hate me?” I asked him softly, averting my eyes to the fire, “I cannot and I probably never will hate you. Desiring you and being concerned about you, despite anything you do, seems to be a permanent fixture in my character.”

“I asked myself the same question over and over again,” he said slowly, “And I find that only you have ever succeeded in calming my fire. I love my wife, but I have never found peace in her arms. The short while when you held me then,” he faltered consciously, “that was the first time that I felt a measure of tranquillity.”

His vulnerability as he finished his confession, the sight is etched into my mind. I know that he is arrogant and intolerable. I know that he will always love his work and our father the most, then his wife and children. Only whatever he could spare after that would be mine. But still, I could not bear to lose that paltry leaving. I am not the ‘wise’ child of Finwe as my name says. I am a fool, for I am willing to do anything for my half-brother. And despicably, I don’t regret being such a fool.

Moving forward, I wrapped my arms around him. He stiffened, but relaxed considerably resting his head against my shoulder. After a few silent moments, he raised his face and kissed me fervently. We have sinned against law and soul, there is no going back.

* * *

The past few years have been the happiest years of my long life. True, Arafinwë still grates on my nerves with his constant disapproval of my doings. And Turkáno offers me unasked for advice related to my bedchamber activities. Findekáno still follows Russandol like a faithful pet. Findaráto waits for his eldest cousin to get married. Irissë and Tyelkormo are by now experienced enough to write a book on carnal acts. Macalaurë is devoted to his music and his elder brother in equal measure. Artanis is now learning with Nerdanel about the forge. Now that’s an ‘eyeopener’ (as Irissë says), I think she is learning that because she has nothing else left to learn. Normally, she stays away from getting her palms dirty.

My father has taken to walking unannounced into my chambers. I think he is finally realizing what a gem he has in this son! Russandol juggles his tasks; helping father in court, meetings, helping me in documenting lore, encouraging Findekáno with his harp, encouraging his brother with his music, and there are days when my half-brother drags him away to teach him the workings of the forge (those are the days when Russandol employs rather foul-mouthed curses that sends the nearest ladies fleeing away from him.) He visits his mother as much as he can, given his work schedule. 

Now let me say why I am happy. One, my wife has left her Vanyarin lover for a Noldorin lover. I am pleased because even if she is cheating on me, I would rather it was a fellow Noldo. Two, Nerdanel has not returned and is not likely to return any time soon, the poor woman seems to have had enough of my brother. Cannot say I blame her. Three, Fëanáro and I am breaking all laws possible as he sneaks into my bedchamber every night and we indulge in unspeakably passionate acts.

My voice is gravely in the mornings as result of all the vociferous nightly doings. People were curious in the beginning, but now they have accepted it to be another oddity of a son of Finwë. Fëanáro himself has taken to wearing high collared robes and tunics even while he is in the forge. But of course, nobody would dare question him. 

My only worry is the continued apprenticeship that he has with Melkor. I asked our father to ascertain if Manwë knows of this. Apparently the Vala does. Something is wrong. My brother is too easy to manipulate for all his wisdom and skill. I told Russandol, and succeeded in adding one more worry to his list. 

I hear rumours of divisions in the Noldor lines. Something to do with Arafinwë who is telling anyone who has ears that Fëanáro is trying to get his half-brothers thrown out of court. I told Fëanáro to mend matters with Arafinwë before things get out of hand. But he laughed it off saying Arafinwë is all bark and no bite. What a magnificently idiotic elder brother I have! Half the Noldor nobles already believe Arafinwë, Russandol and father are worried about it. So am I. It might be better if Fëanáro could occasionally attend the court, but the pompous braggart will not.

If my elder brother is an egoist and my younger brother is an aspiring usurper, then what must I call Fëanáro’s five younger sons? For years, I had thought that my children were the worst anyone could have. Apparently I am wrong. Carnistro, Atarinkë, Tyelkormo and the twins, all of them have taken to heart Arafinwë’s slander. Possessing none of their eldest brother’s guile and talent, they have just stopped short of a street war with Arafinwë. This does nothing to help Fëanáro’s reputation. 

Fëanáro’s schedule is simple and unvarying. In the morning, he goes to Melkor to learn of the secret something that he is so excited about. Then he returns and works with his younger sons in the forge. Sometimes he compels Russandol to join him there, but he has never been able to persuade Macalaurë to step in there. In the evening, he dines alone with father and then after the palace has retired, he creeps into my room. 

I think only Russandol knows of our secret. Father knows that Fëanáro has taken a lover, but luckily the identity remains a mystery to him. When Fëanáro knew that his firstborn was the abetter in this conspiracy, his wrath was out of bounds. Russandol had sufficient warning though, and relocated hastily for a few days to his mother’s home. It seems Nerdanel has taken a lover too. But then I will never tell Fëanáro, who still remains hopeful for her return.

I am roused out of these deep musings by an insistent hand on my flanks. Smiling, I lay down my pen and turn to my side. A certain someone is staring at me with avid hunger.

* * *

“A moment, Nolofinwë”, Russandol knocked on my door even as I was being kissed by his father to half-asphyxiation. 

Fëanáro cursed his son’s timing and bent over the bed to fish out his robes. The delectable view I had made me shiver in anticipation, but dutifully I went to the door and let a dishevelled, wet Russandol in. 

“Where is he?” he asked wearily even before I could ask him why he was looking like a drowned dog. He seemed to have come straight from a drunken street brawl.

“Yes, Maitimo?” Fëanáro asked imperiously as he strode into the antechamber dressed immaculately in green robes, “Why are you dripping on your uncle’s rugs?”

Russandol nervously eyed the deep bite on his father’s throat that even the high collar could not hide. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “The twins pushed me into the lake near the forge.”

“And why would they do that?” Fëanáro asked bored.

“Because I was eavesdropping on them”, Russandol replied promptly.

Fëanáro raised an eyebrow saying, “Really, Maitimo, it is too much to expect that I must sort out these sibling rivalries.”

“What were they talking of?” I asked hastily before Russandol lost his temper. He was rather near the breaking point.

“Carnistro and Tyelkormo have ridden out for mother’s home”, Russandol said quietly, “They bear news.”

“What news?” I asked tremulously, dread forming in the pit of my stomach.

Russandol sighed and glanced at his father who seemed rooted to the very spot. He opened his mouth, but closed it again.

“What news?” I asked again, not sure if I wished to hear the answer. There have been only countable instances in my life when I wanted to die. This was one of those instances.

The door opened and Arafinwë burst in, behind him were a weeping Irissë, a distraught Findekáno and a shocked Turkáno. Fëanáro cleared his throat and moved a few paces towards his firstborn instinctively.

“So it is true”, Arafinwë whispered in pure shock, “Nolofinwë! You have been bedding him!”

I could see the expressions on my children’s features. It made me want to evaporate into the air then and there. 

“I do think that it was a better choice than bedding children younger than your own offspring”, Fëanáro said sarcastically. 

My half-brother’s brilliantly pawky sense of sarcasm is at its peak whenever he meets my full brother. In this case, it was a terrible low-hit. Arafinwë’s penchant for bedding youth barely into their majority was one of the reasons why he had moved to Alqualondë. But I didn’t think that this reminder was likely to endear Fëanáro to our younger brother right now. Predictably Arafinwë turned a magnificent shade of puce.

“You whore!” he said through clenched teeth, I made sure not to look at Fëanáro then, “You have corrupted my dear brother!” (I was rather impressed by this little speech. How nice of him to defend his immoral brother.)

“You are perhaps unaware that your saintly brother has bedded the entire Noldorin host before we came to this arrangement”, Fëanáro said coldly.

Russandol said softly but firmly, “Findekáno, Turkáno, Irissë, please leave the room and find the rest of our cousins. I will come there soon”, as soon my children obeyed with eager alacrity and shut the door behind them Russandol turned to Arafinwë saying, “Come, uncle, you are overwrought from your journey.”

“This is not the last of our meetings, Fëanáro!” Arafinwë said angrily before following his nephew out of the room, he pointed to the large bitemark which I had left on Fëanáro’s neck, “And make sure that you do something about that before you are summoned to court tomorrow.”

I went to the door and locked it after them before turning to face Fëanáro. He met my gaze boldly, but I could see him shivering uncontrollably. Well, it was not everyday that you are called a bodyseller by your own brother before your son. Knowing Fëanáro, he would adamantly stand there all day content to stare at me. So, I walked to him and embraced him tightly, giving him the reassurance that he so badly craved for. 

He said quietly, “I must go to my sons, Nolofinwë. And you must go to your children. We cannot let our actions dishonour them.”

“Father, Nolofinwë”, Russandol entered through the side-door followed by Findekáno. 

I hastily moved away trying not to meet Findekáno’s eyes. Interesting how I could meet my nephew’s eyes while I had been embarrassed by my children’s presence when we were caught. Findekáno came to my side and squeezed my hand clumsily. I met his eyes gratefully. Perhaps all the time he has spent in following Russandol is not wasted.

“Maitimo”, Fëanáro said softly, “I am sorry.”

“Father”, Russandol knelt before Fëanáro and clasped his father’s hands, “I have an idea. You must do as I say if you are to prevent this from spreading about. Grandfather knows, but he is eager to protect you both.”

“Tell us, Russandol”, I said weakly, “Anything that does not involve the Vanyar.”

Findekáno chuckled at my poor humour, but Fëanáro smiled and raised his son to his feet whispering, “You deserve a better father.”

I had to agree. Though I did not say so fearing my brother’s wrath. Russandol deserved a normal family.

“Well, I have put out the news both of you have fought badly. Tomorrow, one of you must go to court and complain of the other to grandfather. Then the other comes, you get into a verbal duel”, Russandol paused with a nervous look at us both, “It will be more convincing if you could come to a physical fight in the court. This will support Arafinwë’s idea of dividing the Noldor. But then, you can keep your private lives private.”

“You forgot to mention that one of them will be exiled”, Findekáno said cheerily.

Fëanáro stared at my son dubiously. I had to agree with his silent accusation, whatever did my son find so amusing in all of this? Verbal fight, all right. I could rehearse well and do it. Physical fight, not a good idea, with my obvious attraction for Fëanáro, it will not be surprising if I kiss him in the court. And exile, I took a deep breath, that was not my dream idea of a holiday.

“I will bring my sword”, Fëanáro said quietly, “And threaten you. Obviously our father will have to exile me then. Arafinwë can say whatever he likes.”

“I don’t want to leave the palace over this matter. Father will not want you to leave”, I said sincerely, “And I am sure that we can just stop short of getting exiled. It can be a brawl in the court.”

“We must do it properly if we are to convince the rest”, Fëanáro shrugged dismissively, “Maitimo, if I am exiled, will you visit me occasionally?”

“I plan on coming with you”, Russandol said incredulously, “Surely you are taking us with you!”

“Macalaurë loves Tirion”, Fëanáro said sadly, “I wouldn’t dare disrupt his routine by asking him to come with me.”

“If I come, he shall come”, Russandol said easily, trying not to notice Findekáno’s sullen look, “And of course, I must ask you to build a set of chambers for my favourite cousin too. Irissë might come too, she cannot stay apart from my brother, I daresay.”

Findekáno laughed and hugged his cousin so tightly that I began to be concerned about Russandol’s ribs. Then he rushed out of the room. Russandol smiled at us both, massaging his throat before saying lightly, “I will get working on tomorrow’s little drama then.”

“Maitimo”, Fëanáro halted him, “What about the rest of your brothers?”

Russandol hesitated before saying, “I can say that Macalaurë and I will follow you anywhere. I cannot answer for the rest of my siblings, father. I will send them to you as soon as they return.”

* * *

“Russandol must stay in Tirion”, I said quietly as Fëanáro paced the room, “He is needed to counter Arafinwë’s influence. You do realize that I cannot support you in any way after this brawl of ours arranged for tomorrow.”

“I don’t need to stoop to Arafinwë’s level!” Fëanáro bristled impatiently, “I will raise a new city with my sons and enjoy my exile.”

“Fëanáro”, I pleaded with him, foreboding rising in me, “Let Russandol stay here. And Macalaurë. Take the others with you. I will come with you myself if I could.”

 

The brawl went as planned per the script. It was so perfectly executed that even Arafinwë hastened to our side in shock when Fëanáro raised his sword to my neck. As the cold metal moved on my skin, I shuddered involuntarily. The fire in my elder brother’s eyes frightened me. 

I bowed before Finwë, and without word or glance to Fëanor I went from the chamber. But Fëanor followed me, and at the door of the king's house he stayed me; and the point of his bright sword he set against my breast 

“See, half-brother!” he said. “This is sharper than thy tongue. Try but once more to usurp my place and the love of my father, and maybe it will rid the Noldor of one who seeks to be the master of thralls.”

At the moment, I knew that all my forebodings were right. Melkor had worked his evil magic on my brother’s heart and played upon his fears. I barely remember Russandol stepping in between us and leading his father away.

Our father was shocked by the cruel display and pronounced exile for his firstborn. And declared that he would not be parted from his son come what may. His fervent words moved Fëanáro out of his stupor and he seemed shocked at what he had done. I resolved to speak with him, but he turned away from me and went to his younger sons. Macalaurë and Russandol were talking in low voices with my father. But he remained adamant to follow his beloved son to exile.

Thus it was that I found myself the unwilling and unprepared ruler of Tirion, High-City of the Noldor.

* * *

I am a poor ruler. And my younger brother is no better. The divisions in the Noldor lines are merely deepening with years. I don’t think we shall ever unite again. In times like these, we need a strong leader. Perhaps my father, no, father is too devoted to his personal life to think of our people. And my dear half-brother is not a choice either, given his penchant for power. As much as I love him, I don’t see him being fair or just.

My children are no use either. Findekáno is always with his cousins in the city of Formenos. And Turkáno and I never agree on anything. Irissë is but a pale shadow of herself after Tyelkormo ended their fairytale love. Apparently, he accused her of having a father who usurped his mother’s place in Fëanáro’s bed and threw them out of Tirion. I briefly considered writing to Fëanáro regarding this, but knowing that he was extremely protective of his children, I held back. 

The brawl and the circumstances of the exile have made it impossible for me to go to Formenos. Fëanáro cannot, of course, come here until the exile ends. I had set out twice only to be called back by my younger brother.

My only contact with Fëanáro is through the occasional visits of Russandol and Macalaurë. I weary them with questions thought they always try to answer most clearly. Fëanáro, being Fëanáro, has never sent me a letter though I have made Russandol my messenger countless times. Russandol assures me that his father reads them all. I hope so, anyway I will never ask Fëanáro for the truth. Illusions are better than bare facts!

When things in the court become extremely messy, I send for my eldest nephew and he answers my summons always. (My firstborn has never heeded my pleas to come back to Tirion saying that only fools would live here at court when life at Formenos was so exciting). 

Macalaurë’s visits are a different matter. He usually goes to meet Findaráto first and then turns up at court looking slightly lost. Arafinwë often comments crudely on our nephew’s eccentricities, but I have grown fond of him. He is not as talented as Russandol, but he is the second best of our half-brother’s family.

* * *

“Nolofinwë”, it was Russandol, he never knocks on my door even though now he is no longer living under the same roof as me.

“I see you have become more handsome”, I smiled at him as he entered and seated himself on a chair across my desk confidently, “Formenos agrees with you, I guess.”

“Yes”, his grey eyes met mine hesitantly for what seemed to be the first time in his life, “I have taken a lover, a daughter of one of father’s apprentices. You will tell me it was long past time.”

“And is there a hope that we might unite for your nuptials soon?” I asked happily, though I sensed a grave doubt lingering in his soul.

“It will be a mere union of the body”, he sighed, “I don’t love her very passionately. If you see how Atarinkë loves his wife or how Tyelkormo loves Irissë, you will agree that I have never been capable of such a thing. I began this relationship because Findekáno is getting bolder.”

That last sentence made me blush at the remembrances of the days when I would wait for a chance to simply brush my hand against Fëanáro.

“You know that I have never loved my wife”, I said sombrely, “I love your father. And he loves his wife, your mother. Love is a crazy thing. It comes and goes on its own whim. Just rejoice that it has no hold on you.”

“I must marry, I suppose. It is tough hearing all the rumours concerning Findekáno and me”, he said sadly as he stared at his interlaced fingers with dull fascination, “And there’s Findaráto who insists that he will go through with his own marriage only after I do. Macalaurë too spouts some nonsense of the kind.”

“Findaráto is a fool. Even if you marry, Artanis will not. So he will have to wait for her to get married too, as a responsible brother. As for Macalaurë, you know that he loves his harp and song more than he can ever love a spouse”, I sighed, “ You don’t have to jump into a marriage the way I did, the way Turkáno did.” 

“I wanted to talk with someone”, he shrugged as he shoved away his unruly, yet, breathtaking coppery hair, “And the idea of talking about this to father was appalling. And I cannot talk to my younger brothers or Findekáno who are all engrossed by the hunting there. Macalaurë will worry too much as he tends to in my case.”

“I suppose that something is right with my parental skills though my children have always declared that I am the worst father possible”, I said wryly as he leant back in his chair and sipped his wine.

“Trust me”, he laughed, “If you had seen father dragging me to the forge at crack of dawn and demanding that I learn hewing the stones while still clad in my bedclothes, you will never say so. As much as I love him, he is the epitome of a bad parent!”

“He is perfection and no wonders why he expects the same from you”, I said chuckling as he stretched in his catlike way to better ease his long limbs.

“He misses you”, his wise grey eyes fastened my gaze, “Though he will never tell anyone, it is written on his features. His temper, his moods and his actions are more unpredictable now. All of us, even grandfather, stay away from him when he is in one of his moods. Well, only Macalaurë has stayed in the same room as father at such times. That is because my brother fears nothing.”

“He fears your displeasure”, I remarked thoughtfully.

“Yes, he is the best brother anyone can have”, Russandol smiled, “And there is the fact that the Valar must have thought some compensation necessary for putting me into the hands of such a family.”

I stared wonderingly at the miracle before me. He had been a babe in my arms. All soulful grey eyes, soft skin, clenched babyfists and wiggling toes. It is a wonder that I remember each instant of his childhood clearly while I have only hazy recollections of my children growing up.

* * *

“Brother”, Arafinwë’s voice had a tint of vivid anger, “Our nephew Macalaurë to see you. He says that he will wait in your private chambers. Findaráto came with him, I will be with my son if you need me.”

I wanted to know why Macalaurë was waiting in my chambers for me. But asking Arafinwë was like rousing the honeycomb, so I merely nodded my assent and got to my feet. Tirion was anyway on the road to doom, my neglect of duty would do no harm.

“Macalaurë”, I smiled as I strode into my room.

He was standing near the fireplace, a soft, richly broidered travelling cloak obscuring his features. I was surprised pleasantly. While all of us are fastidious, Macalaurë stays away from royal raiment. He usually prefers plain black robes. His father must have struggled to get him into such an elegant cloak. 

Then I noticed oddities. The way he was brooding before the fire, the hunched shoulders, the shifting of weight from one foot to another. Macalaurë is usually calm and imperturbable.

“Fëanáro”, I whispered as I involuntarily locked the door behind me.

He did not reply as he turned to face me completely and removed his hood. I gasped at the expression in his dark eyes, fear, plain and primal.

I moved to him and clasped his hands in mine saying quietly, “You should not have come. If Arafinwë or Turkáno or anyone had noticed, I could not have protected you, Fëanáro. Did Findaráto recognize you?”

“He will not betray me”, he shook his head wearily as he dropped his gaze, “I made Maitimo convince him. I had to see you.”

“What is wrong? I had a letter from Russandol yesterday”, I whispered, “He mentioned nothing of import.”

“He doesn’t know”, Fëanáro said quietly, “Manwë has tricked me. I made the Silmarilli, they contain the light of our lands. He knew all along that only I could do it. He had Melkor teach me. Now that his brother is banished, Manwë means to claim my jewels. The divisions amongst our people”, it was the first time he had called the Noldor as ‘our’ people, “Is a direct result of their meddling. I am doomed, Nolofinwë.”

“You are merely overwrought”, I said as calmly as I could while trying to imagine the depth of the Vala’s deception. 

It was my brother’s word over that of Manwë’s. I took a deep breath, whatever my brother’s faults, he has never lied. He cannot lie to save his reputation, as had been well proved when Arafinwë had confronted us.

“I am not an easily disturbed soul”, he said unsteadily, clasping my wrists tightly, “But now I am. I need your help, Nolofinwë, what must I do?”

“Destroy the Silmarils”, I said softly, cupping his cheeks with our intertwined hands, “I know what they are, the greatest of your works of the forge. But they are nothing compared to the loss you might suffer if you keep them.”

“It is not that easy, Nolofinwë”, he took a shuddering breath, “The Silmarils, to create them I needed a power beyond our natural one. I am no Maia or Vala. So I took from the only power I had, that of my soul. Put shortly, they contain the essence of what I am, of my spirit”, he smiled weakly, “You will no doubt think me very foolish.”

“Yes”, I said carefully, I did not want to make him more nervous. 

Truly, I was worried as I had never seen him in such a state before. I had never expected a day to occur when my brother would come to me for solace. I observed him more carefully. The pallor of his cheeks as well as the dark circles underneath his eyes told me volumes. And there was his gaunt appearance that I had almost mistaken him for Macalaurë at first. 

“I wish I had known of your sacrifice earlier”, I said sadly, “I would have prevented it with all means at my disposal. Even now, we might find succour with Lady Varda. Will you come with me to her?”

“No”, Fëanáro sighed, “I am done with trusting the Valar. Twice betrayed. I am but a single, disposable elf who does not matter in the grander scheme of things. Nolofinwë, once I told you that my work is my life. Perhaps it is fitting that the greatest of my craft contains my spirit. That way, it is not a sacrifice. Not many would care anyway though they might rejoice in my foolishness.”

“I care”, I said firmly as I met his gaze, “You have never seen anything outside of your work, Fëanáro. But if you had cared to, you might have known that.”

“I am losing my mind, Nolofinwë”, he whispered harshly, turning to the fireplace again, “I seem to think nonsense frequently, insanity is gripping my mind slowly. That is why I came to you now. To tell you, while I am actually in possession of my senses, that I need you, I want you and….. I love you.”

I have known for years that I loved him. I have known that he loves me atleast a few notches more than he loves Nerdanel. But to hear it actually from his mouth, in that fevered tone, I was shocked. At the moment, I did doubt his sanity. 

But then a single tear made its lonely way down his cheek as he pleaded, “If ever I do anything unforgivable later remember what I said and try not to hate me too much.”

“I could never hate you even if you are the most arrogant, uncivilized, prince I had the misfortune to meet”, I assured him as he rushed into my embrace and held me like a dying soul. 

Our lovemaking that night was the most passionate encounter we had. He was almost delirious with pleasure as he submitted to my touch willingly. It had always struck me that he preferred not to dominate in the bed. It was the one time when he could let go of his unvoiced fears and burdens.

Finally as we lay on the rug, spent and exhausted, I said solemnly, “Fëanáro, I will follow you to whatever end you lead me. To death and beyond, if it ever comes to that.”

He pressed a weary hand to my lips whispering, “Please, Nolofinwë, say that you will kill me yourself if I lose my sanity completely. I could…I could never bear to live thus.”

All of my heart revolted at his plea, but I knew that I had to give in. I had never the courage to resist him. I nodded and he exhaled in relief, pillowing his head on my broader chest. As I held him in his sleep, I wondered why abnormal things happen only in my family.

He had seemed very sincere and earnest all evening. I had no reason ever to doubt him. His senses were dulled, that was evident from his obvious mental distress. Russandol had mentioned his increasing worry for his father recently. Apparently, Fëanáro had become a recluse even to our father.

A knock on my door alerted me. I did not want to wake him. But if it was Arafinwë or Turkáno, I had to get him out of here. For a moment, I hesitated as he snuggled closer to me, his features worn out yet relaxed in reverie.

“Father”, it was my daughter’s voice, “I wanted to tell you that uncle and Turkáno are spending the night at a stag party of some sort. The wing is safe, there is no need to hurry.”

I did not ask her how she had deduced the identity of my guest. I merely thanked her and held Fëanáro to me more closely. 

“I must go”, he whispered as he woke suddenly after an hour or so, “Maitimo is waiting for me at the borders.”

“If you send him on to Tirion, then I can come with you”, I said tentatively, not wanting to pick an argument with him now.

“Of course not”, he got to his feet, “I hold my son to be more important than my occasional paramour!”

I stared at him horrified by the cold words. He raked his fingers through his tousled hair and looked at me with equal terror. The strange glint in his eyes made me realize the truth.

“It is all right”, I stood and clasped his hand in mine, “We will get over this together, Fëanáro. I cannot blame you for the malice of Melkor trying to wrest your spirit. We will prevail.”

“I will hold you to your promise”, he held my eyes sadly before throwing his robes and cloak on. 

As he disappeared through my doors, I knelt down by the fire, staring into its flames. I had promised him that I would kill him if the madness took him entirely. He had no wish to live thus, and I had no wish to see him live thus. Why then did I fear that I could not hold true to my vow?

* * *

It was the final day of his exile. I took a deep breath as I walked to the raised dais where Manwë and Varda sat along with the rest of the Valar. Arafinwë was already there, chatting merrily with Turkáno. I glanced at the crowd, the Noldor wore badges of fealty, some proclaiming loyalty to Fëanáro and some to me. Tirion was divided. Perhaps it was good that our father had not come.

A hush rose in the crowd as my half-brother rode into the grounds. As he lowered his hood, I inhaled sharply. He was gaunter than when I had seen him last. The strange glitter seemed permanent in his eyes. Accompanying him was my firstborn, who looked worried. For Findekáno to be worried, I knew that things had to be really bad.

“It is time then to release your brother, is it not?” Manwë’s deep voice sounded from my left. I turned to look at the Vala, who was smiling in a very peculiar fashion.

“It is more than time”, I said composedly, wishing that either my father or Russandol was here. Only they could smooth matters in this family and right now, Turkáno and Arafinwë were glaring at Fëanáro, who tried his best to look smug and unconcerned.

It was over quickly, I released him and declared my forgiveness. But he did not speak, his eyes were cold as he appraised Manwë. The Noldorin factions were hissing arguments, that Fëanáro was not valuing my forgiveness as much as he should, that I was sounding insolent and so on.

I decided to make Fëanáro more at ease and said clearly, “Half-brother in blood, you are my full brother in heart”, I paused, the factions had become silent and Fëanáro was staring at me bewilderedly, I continued, “And wherever you lead me, brother-mine, I shall follow you, I swear.”

He did not reply, but I saw his eyes soften as he regarded me. I took his hand and kneeling on a single knee, kissed softly on the calloused hand. My fealty was sealed. His fingers trembled in my grasp as he asked me to rise. Our eyes met as I stood before him and he opened his mouth to speak.

“MY LORDS!” Russandol’s voice was shrill with fear and sorrow as he galloped into the grounds, clad in blood-stained robes. 

Fëanáro gasped as Russandol more fell than dismounted from the horse, the poor winded beast collapsed onto its knees. I saw Turkáno rush to steady Russandol, his dislike of my half-brother’s family overshadowed by his genuine concern. A hand gripped my wrist in search of reassurance. I squeezed Fëanáro’s sweating palm though fears ravaged my soul.

“Tell us, child”, Varda asked soothingly, “What is it?” 

Suddenly the skies darkened and a low eerie cloud hung over the lands. I could hear the shrill cries of the birds. I had never known darkness truly before, and it frightened me. Where was the radiance of the Trees? Why were the Valar so quiet?

“No”, Fëanáro whispered as he leant heavily onto me, “It cannot be, not again.”

“Death!” Arafinwë gasped, “Who died, Maitimo?”

Russandol refused to meet our gazes as he said in a broken voice, “We were alone, grandfather and I, merely waiting for news from Tirion. Macalaurë was with the rest of my brothers in the summer house. There was a sudden rumble”, he paused and clasped his hands together, fear rose in me as I watched my nephew, a fear I had never before experienced, “It was Melkor”, Varda gasped, but I noticed that Manwë did not react, Russandol continued, “And he demanded the Silmarils. We were unarmed, Melkor went to the vaults”, Fëanáro leant onto me more, “I tried to stop him, he flung me out of the way. Grandfather took up one of those swords that hung on the walls and charged”, Fëanáro’s grip on my wrist tightened, “I cannot go on”, Russandol faltered.

“Finish it”, Manwë’s voice was commanding.

I felt resentment towards Manwë rise in me, as I looked at my shivering nephew. Russandol closed his eyes as tears fell unabated down his pale cheeks, “He killed Grandfather before the vaults, because Grandfather said that he would not stand aside as long as he had life in his veins to watch his son’s work despoiled. I am sorry, father”, Russandol fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands, “I should have died too, but he was so gleeful at getting his hands on the Silmarils that he did not even spare me a second look. I have failed you, Father, I stood by and watched as he destroyed the two things that mattered the most to you”, his anguished sobs tore my heart out, yet Fëanáro did not reply.

Russandol knew that Fëanáro did not forgive him for he trembled in grief, shame and fear. I wanted to go to his side, but I had sworn my fealty to his father. For several long moments there was no sound except for Russandol’s sobs. 

It is a memory I shall never forget, I guess, to see my beloved nephew whom I loved more than I did my own children, crying his heart out in the midst of the august gathering. Across me, I could see Findekáno being restrained by Irissë. Findaráto was looking at me imploringly. But I could sense Fëanáro’s dark mood, nothing I said now would change his opinion that Russandol was to be blamed.  
I looked up at Varda, but she was trying to comfort Yavanna, who had nursed those damn trees. Were trees more important than my nephew?

“Russandol”, a melodious voice broke the pitiful silence, “You failed nobody, whatever some may think.”

I saw Macalaurë helping his brother to his feet and gently escorting him to where Findekáno and Findaráto stood. After pressing a chaste kiss to his brother’s cheek, Macalaurë turned back to meet Fëanáro’s eyes. For a moment, the fire in my nephew’s eyes that nearly overwhelmed Fëanáro’s own. 

Father and son stared at each other for several uneasy moments, before Fëanáro cleared his throat and said quietly, “Maitimo, I thank Eru that you are safe and unharmed. No jewel I make will ever match the love I bear for you, my son.”

“I should have died”, Russandol said hollowly, “I did nothing to save him.”

“You could have done nothing”, Fëanáro said gently, “If those who call themselves the Valar failed to see this coming, then I hold them responsible for what I have lost today.”

There were uneasy shivers in the gathering as people watched my brother draw himself to his full height. A frisson of fear passed through me.

“I let you use me for your own ends”, Fëanáro said coldly as he turned his fiery gaze on the Valar, “I hoped that my willing slavery would satisfy you and your brother. It did not, you have killed my father, the noblest elf that ever lived! And you have taken the Silmarils which you have no right to touch let alone claim!”

“You know not what you rave”, Manwë said coldly, “But I will forgive your words for you are grieving your father’s death.”

“Why, O people of the Noldor,” Fëanáro cried as he turned to face the crowd, “why should we longer serve the jealous Valar, who cannot keep us nor even their own realm secure from their Enemy? Vengeance calls me, but otherwise I would not dwell longer in the same land with the kin of my father's slayer and of the thief of my treasure. Yet I am not the only valiant in this valiant people. And have you not all lost your King? And what else have you not lost, cooped here in a narrow land between the mountains and the sea?”

I hearkened to his words, and the Noldor in the gathering shifted restlessly, moved by Fëanáro’s fire. Only Russandol and Findaráto seemed afraid by the speech though I did not understand their fear, the Valar were Melkor’s kin. Manwë was Melkor’s brother, for Eru’s sake!

“Here once was light, that the Valar begrudged to Middle-earth, but now dark levels all. Shall we mourn here deedless for ever, a shadow-folk, mist-haunting, dropping vain tears in the thankless sea? Or shall we return to our home? In Cuiviénen sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars, and wide lands lay about, where a free people might walk. There they lie still and await us who in our folly forsook them. Come away! Let the cowards keep this city!”

All of the Noldor united in the sorrow and the thirst for vengeance. As one, the Noldor, my people, raised their torches and swords and implored Fëanáro to speak.

Long he spoke, and ever he urged the Noldor to follow him and by their own prowess to win freedom and great realms in the lands of the East, before it was too late. But it was his final words that sealed our willingness to follow him anywhere. I will never forget the fire in his eyes as he raised his sword in defiance and spoke the words that stirred our hearts so fiercely.

“Fair shall the end be,” he cried, “though long and hard shall be the road! Say farewell to bondage! But say farewell also to ease! Say farewell to the weak! Say farewell to your treasures! More still shall we make. Journey light: but bring with you your swords! For we will go further than Oromë, endure longer than Tulkas: we will never turn back from pursuit. After Morgoth to the ends of the Earth! War shall he have and hatred undying. But when we have conquered and have regained the Silmarils, then we and we alone shall be lords of the unsullied Light, and masters of the bliss and beauty of Arda. No other race shall oust us!”

I could see Varda pleading with Manwë to stop Fëanáro. But the lord of Valinor sat unmoving as if watching an interesting play. It merely stirred my wrath further as I raised my sword and stood by my half-brother. My sons mirrored my actions. I could see Findaráto and the rest of Arafinwë’s sons following suit. Russandol looked at me for an instant before he nodded to his brothers to raise their swords. The last was Arafinwë. It struck me that it took our father’s death to unite us. The Noldor were one at last. We made a beautifully fell sight, the High-Princes of the house of Finwë, raising their swords together swearing to avenge our father. 

Fëanáro shivered alongside me as if he was having trouble balancing himself. I looked at him concernedly and gasped, his eyes glittered strangely. The madness was upon him again. Before I could move to grasp his wrist, he began speaking in a clear, unwavering tone, the words of his speech shall haunt us all to our dying days.

I will not write the oath in this journal, I simply cannot. Suffice it to say that Russandol looked as if he was about to fall at his father’s feet and implore him. But it was not possible, Fëanáro was mad. I watched with rising dread as one after the other, the seven sons of my brother swore the oath.

Whatever their faults, they were never accused of being disobedient. If this is what comes of obedience, I am glad that my children do not obey me.

* * *

It was a mad rush for the harbour. Fëanáro was in no condition to speak with. And his five younger sons were in a similar state excited by their father’s charisma. Macalaurë stayed with them in an attempt to reason with them. Following my brother’s host was Findekáno and his supporters. Then the sons of Arafinwë followed. Russandol and I were between Arafinwë’s host and mine. 

“It is done then”, Russandol looked down at his tunic which was spattered with Finwë’s blood, “I do not think grandfather would appreciate what we are now doing.”

“Russandol, why did you take the oath?” I asked him miserably.

“Why did you swear to follow him?” he asked me sadly.

“Because I love him”, I replied though I did not admit that fear was fast colouring my love for him.

* * *

We arrived at the harbour to see Findekáno’s and Fëanáro’s host fighting and killing our Telerin kin. I had to hold Russandol as he retched in horror. We stood for a moment watching the madness unfolding before us. Then I saw two Teleri getting an upper hand on Fëanáro. Russandol gasped as Findekáno was struck down. I think we unsheathed our swords together. I will never forget the Teleri blood spraying onto my face as my sword sliced through an elven body.

Some part of me registered Atarinkë’s yell, “The ships are won, O Brave Noldor!”

I stared into Fëanáro’s eyes as he struggled to his feet. He seemed horrified by the blood that covered us, by the dead bodies surrounding us. 

“What have I done?” he whispered as he attempted to clean the blade of his sword on his tunic desperately, “What have I done, Nolofinwë?”

“What you had to”, I answered steadily. He closed his eyes in shock and horror as his sword hand dropped to his side.

It was then that Mandos came and pronounced our Doom. Fëanáro bravely defied him and led us on, but after the Vala had left, my half-brother turned to me.

“Kill me, Nolofinwë”, he said hoarsely, “Before I lose myself in this.”

“It is of no use, father”, Russandol gently steadied him, his grey eyes filled with resignation and regret, “We are all lost in this.”

* * *

There were not enough ships to take us all. So it was decided that Fëanáro would go first with his host. Russandol said he would stay with me and let Findekáno go with Fëanáro. But Fëanáro was adamant and dragged his firstborn with him, the madness returning to his eyes.

It is with a heavy heart that I think of the long vigil we kept for the return of the ships. Arafinwë stood by my side, silent and morose. I knew that he wished for nothing more than to return to Tirion.

“FATHER!” Irissë’s voice was strained, “Fire in the east!”

“The ships burn”, I whispered with sickening dread, “O Fëanáro! What more will you do to drive us apart?”

The people looked to me for guidance, their faces betraying their fear and reckless dread. I took a deep breath. I am not my half-brother, I have no talent with words. I wish I had persuaded Fëanáro to let Russandol stay with me. He could have united the people more than Fëanáro or I had.

“O mighty Noldor!” I said earnestly, “The ships burn, though we know not the reason”, of course, all of us knew that we had been betrayed, but it would not help things to say that aloud, “What shall we do? Go forth to the lands of promise and hope or turn back to Valinor like cowardly, snivelling ditherers? I will lead you to the lands of the east, I swear by Eru, who will follow me?” 

Arafinwë shook his head in weary resignation. But Findekáno and Turkáno had come to my side. Findaráto and his brothers followed. That left Irissë, Artanis and Arafinwë.

“You have led us all out foolishly, Nolofinwë”, Arafinwë said sadly, “I will no longer abet this. I shall return to the west and beg the Valar. If the pride of Finwë’s line is diminished because of that, I care not! No further kin blood shall stain my blade!”

He looked to his only daughter, “Will you return with me, Artanis? Your brothers and cousins have chosen.”

“What has Irissë decided?” Artanis looked across at my daughter.

“I will follow my father, my brothers and my cousins”, my daughter lifted her chin and said proudly, the fire of our line shining in her.

“And I shall follow you”, Artanis left her father’s side and stood beside Findaráto, “I am not sorry, father, my place is with my kin. We have sworn to avenge grandfather and I cannot desert our family.”

“So be it”, Arafinwë bowed and turned back, a portion of our host followed him. 

“Forward, O Noldor!” Findekáno and Artanis exhorted our weary people as we began the long trudge across the cruel Ice.

* * *

“Fair shall the end be,” my brother’s words came back to me as I walked with my sons, “though long and hard shall be the road!”

I hope he is right.

* * *

  
I am thankful for my children and nephews. How could I ever have called them unworthy of the line of Finwë? Even if they are not as multi-talented as my half-brother, they are all leaders.

As we made that long, horrifying journey across the Ice, I watched my children. Gone was Findekáno’s playfulness and lackadaisical attitude. He is a strong leader who can pull along the weary Noldor with his solid reassurances. Findaráto still held together the greater part of our host. Turkáno, as always, gave us solid counsel. Irissë held the womenfolk together. Artanis was a solid support to both Findekáno and I, as my firstborn was worried to death about Russandol and I was worried about my half-brother’s mental state. 

I have resolved to speak with Russandol about his father’s madness as soon as we reach there. Although all my children and those of Arafinwë are excellent leaders, they cannot compare to Russandol. I could hear the people lamenting his absence. In the many years as his grandfather’s right hand, Russandol was much respected and loved by the people. I believe if the Noldor had a say in choosing the next king, they would never have chosen my fiery half-brother or me or cunning Arafinwë.

“Yesterday I was speaking to grandfather that we would soon return to Tirion and become a family again”, Findekáno told me as he plopped down next to me wearily, “And today we are rushing across unknown lands to avenge his death. If this does not bother my brother Turkáno, what does?”

“He is merely trying to keep up a strong front”, I shrugged, “As you do. But you have all made me proud.”

“Arafinwë told Turkáno that Manwë knew of your relationship with Fëanáro”, Findekáno hesitated, “Manwë does not approve.”

“We are in the middle of nowhere”, I smiled sadly, “I do not think that Manwë’s approval matters here. For all we know, we might not see them again. But I am sorry that my actions have led all of you into this if that be the case.”

“None of us”, Findekáno paused, “not even Turkáno, holds it against Fëanáro or you. Well, Findaráto was scandalized when he heard of it, but Maitimo made him understand.”

“Russandol has ever been my champion”, I said forlornly, “I will never forgive Fëanáro if anything happened to Russandol.”

“He deserved a better family”, Findekáno laughed, “Findaráto and he are the only one amongst us with no incestuous desires. Even Arafinwë had a dark secret, he was very fond of the twins.”

“I don’t think I want to imagine that!” I snorted disbelievingly, “But stop! What of Artanis?”

“She has been generously providing Irissë a lot of comfort in these dark days”, Findekáno whispered glancing around to make sure that nobody else were in hearing distance.

“And Macalaurë?” I shook my head in total disbelief. Though Findekáno had usually the best sources of information it was difficult to believe the two cold fish of our family, Artanis and Macalaurë, would actually feel lust.

“You don’t know?” my son asked me incredulously, “All these years it has been there right before your long nose! And you have never known, father-mine, you are a prize fool, if I may say frankly!”

“I knew that I was a fool from the moment I fell in love with that idiot”, I muttered darkly, “What of Macalaurë? You know that I did not spend my time stalking people around!”

“I believe that only Maitimo and you are unaware of Macalaurë’s desires”, Findekáno chortled. 

Findaráto , Artanis, Turkáno and Irissë joined us, I frowned as they smiled indulgently at my expense when Findekáno explained matters to them.

“Even I noticed”, Findaráto said mildly, “It is amusing that the two most seasoned diplomats did not know what was going on right before them.”

“Father has never had eyes for anyone other than uncle Fëanáro”, Irissë said shamelessly. Somehow I doubted that making my weakness public would help the already much tried nerves of my people. I glared at her warningly. 

“The first time I noticed it, I was shocked”, Artanis said quietly, “But then I realized that Macalaurë has always looked up to him. Then I asked him once, he did not deny it though he refused to confirm our observations.” 

“I think that is why he has always been more kindly disposed to you than to anyone else”, Turkáno remarked, “He sensed a like soul.”

“By Eru!” I gasped as it struck me finally, “Not Russandol! They are full-brothers!” 

“They have done nothing”, Artanis said nonchalantly, “Maitimo doesn’t even know of all this. So far, he knows of only one pursuer, our cousin here.”

“And how did you react?” I asked Findekáno, long time pursuer of my eldest nephew, “I thought you managed to get along with Macalaurë!”

“I do”, Findekáno shrugged, “It is pathetic at times. He knows that I am after Maitimo. Everyone knows”, he corrected as Irissë smirked, “But he assures himself that nobody knows of his secret. He is a quiet soul, no confidantes or close friends. Only Maitimo is close to him. And Maitimo was always engrossed in evading my attentions that he missed all this. It nearly sent Macalaurë into a depression when Maitimo took that girl as a lover.”

“Does that mean--”I began.

“No”, Turkáno laughed, “Findekano will continue chase. The more the competition the greater the thrill of chase! Fair Maitimo is being fought over.”

“Pray”, Findaráto smiled, “Never let him know that!”

As they continued their ribald talk, I met Artanis’s gaze. It was obvious what they were doing. Lightening up our hearts, trying to hold on to the hope that we would see the other half of our family again. I looked to the far east. 

I wanted to believe my sons and nephews, but I fear the insanity that grips my brother.

* * *

Turkáno’s wife, Elenwë, fell into the Ice today. I could only watch helplessly as Turkáno collapsed into Irissë exhaustedly after rescuing his young daughter. Artanis and Findekáno urged us forward relentlessly, not letting us fall prey to grief or anger. I think I can see a shoreline, but maybe the madness of my brother has spread to me. Twice I alerted Findekáno, only to have the scouts report nothing. The bitter cold, the lack of food and the fear hanging over us must be making me hallucinate.

* * *

I was right, we reached the shorelines today. I think that I was not the only one who fell to my knees as we stepped on solid lands. We hugged each other and led our bedraggled, sorry people to the east. My brother’s banners flew at half-mast before the crystal clear lake of Mithrim.

Findekáno and I rushed forwards in fear and foreboding towards the camps. We could see only six tents marked with the stars of our family shield. Maybe the twins were sharing, maybe they were a tent short. Maybe…

Macalaurë came to greet us, the heavy crown of the crown-prince on his head. The rest of the brothers stood sullenly apart from us. 

I watched in helpless terror as Macalaurë scollapsed into Findaráto’s arms and began sobbing.

“Father is dead”, he said over and over again, “The monsters of flame killed him. His body just turned into ashes as his soul departed. He made us all swear it again.”

“Russandol”, I asked as I steadied myself on Turkáno’s arm, the world spinning about me sickly.

“They took him to Morgoth”, Atarinkë answered gravely as Macalaurë sobbed heart-wrenchingly into Findaráto ’s cloak, “Macalaurë has since been like this. He is the leader now.”

Findekáno fell to his knees and pounded his fist into the ground, parting his lips in a mute scream of horror and pain.

* * *

I think I am going mad. The tensions between my followers and those of Fëanáro are increasing. Both Macalaurë and I are poor rulers and poorer administrators. We may not even survive this winter. Thankfully, Turkáno, Findaráto’s brothers and the five younger sons of Fëanáro are excellent warriors and huntsmen. Their hunting parties bring in most of the food and the news. 

There has been no word of Russandol. Once there was a thrall from Angand, whom Turkáno had captured, and the captive said that there was an elf being tortured to the brink of death daily, but still refused to break. We did not get any information about the hair colour, but the thrall said that the light that shone from the grey eyes was fell. Only my Russandol had those grey eyes in our family. So he was alive.

Turkáno spends his days riding with the sons of my dead brother to avenge the death of his kin and to forget Elenwë. I think he is intimate with Atarinkë. Atarinkë’s young son, Telperinquar, is always at the forge. Tyelkormo and Irissë are again friendly and hopefully would return to their passionate love. The twins have become brooding, morose creatures, their faces always turned towards the darkness of the enemy. Carnistro remains as inscrutable as ever.

Irissë has changed, becoming more like a princess of our people than the reckless free spirit I knew in Valinor. She hosts my table and takes on young Idril’s education. Artanis is Findaráto’s companion and Irissë’s confidante. 

But the shadow of Russandol lies upon us all. At the arrival of each rider, we hurry to the courtyard waiting for the smallest hope that my eldest nephew is alive. I forget the number of nights I have cried myself to sleep. 

Somehow, I didn’t shed a tear for Fëanáro. He fell in battle, as he would have wished to. If he had fallen into madness and betrayed us all more, he would not have lived with the guilt and shame. His death must have been a blessing.

But Russandol is young and deserves life, not bloodshed and gore. I grieved for him each moment of every day and night. I cried to Varda, to Este, to Nienna, to Lorien, to anyone who might listen. Nobody did. My dreams were haunted by his grey eyes looking at me trustingly as they had always done. 

Macalaurë is on the brink of insanity. His brothers have entrusted his care to me. But nothing I do ever even brings a smile on his gaunt face. He does not even sing anymore. Findekáno tried to draw him out, but one time Macalaurë lost his temper completely and for a few moments Fëanáro was again alive through him. After that we do not try to draw him out too much.

But our family is already torn. Had our father been holding us together? Is that why the high house of Finwë fell apart like a deck of cards after his demise? Is it the curse of Mandos? Is it our own mistakes?

* * *

It seems as if nothing can happen right in my family these days. The tensions simmering underneath the surface between Fëanáro’s followers and mine occasionally burst forth in full fire. Findekáno considers Fëanáro’s younger sons a waste of space. He criticises them roundly for not doing anything to rescue Russandol. They taunt him likewise. After all, Carnistro would point out snidely, they had not been the ones enchanted by their eldest brother’s figure. This comment usually resulted in a full-fledged brawl.

Macalaurë avoids these streetfights and keeps to his chambers. Occasionally he agrees to join me at court to fulfil his royal duties. Findaráto and Turkáno have been searching for refuges. Apparently they believe that Ulmo is trying to tell them something. Only those fools would believe that the Valar would condescend to help us. If Manwë and the rest wished to help us, they could return Russandol back to us, right? I am done with trusting them.

The nights near the lake are so cold. And I am so lonely. There are days when my gaze rests on Macalaurë for more than is appropriate. Gaunt, spectral, wraith-like, he is now. But to me, it is only in him that Fëanáro’s fire burns the most. Often Findaráto jokes that Macalaurë can be used as the perfect advertisement for the word ‘Noldor’. He is right. Nobody else, with the possible exception of my own daughter, looks so Noldorin.

* * *

“NOLOFINWË!” Artanis’s voice was shrill, I ran out of my rooms to the courtyard to see her riding in.

“What is it?” I hurried to her side and held her mare still as she all but leapt into Turkáno’s arms and began sobbing disconsolately.

“Findekáno rode at dawn to Angband. I tried to bring him back. But he said he would return with Maitimo”, Artanis collapsed partly in exhaustion and partly in grief. Turkáno and Telperinquar, who had been visiting Macalaurë, carried her inside leaving me to stare east at the fell peaks of the cragged Thangorodrim.

“Any chance that he is alive?” Atarinkë asked me worriedly as he arrived with his brothers after hearing the news from his son, who had ridden north as messenger.

“Who, Maitimo?” Carnistro laughed bitterly, “It is likely that he is more goblin than elf now. For all we know, some of our blades might have killed an orc that was once the fairest prince of the Noldor.”

“Cousin!” Turkáno hissed before I could speak, “Please, let us try to do something than speculate. We must find Findekáno.”

“Turkáno”, Atarinkë placed a hand on his cousin’s clenched fist, the small gesture confirmed my suspicions that they were now lovers, “We cannot. The twins and Findaráto have tried to close the borders, but Findekáno slipped past.”

“We have no choice, but to wait”, Artanis sighed as she rose to her feet and walked to the window facing east, “I trust in Maitimo’s endurance and Findekáno’s courage. It shall not be in vain.”

“For once, cousin”, Turkáno smiled wryly, “I would not grudge you if you are proved right.”

* * *

“Nolofinwë”, Macalaurë’s voice was solemn as he joined my vigil by the lakeside.

I turned to face him. His obsidian hair, so like his father’s, glittered in the water-reflected starlight. His eyes were filled with regret and grief as they met mine. The aristocratic features, the hollowed cheek bones, it made me almost sigh. It was as if Fëanáro stood by me there. 

“I resemble him too much”, he sighed, “Many of our people loath that.”

“I admired, respected and loved your father despite all his failings”, I said quietly, “And to see him in you pains me and gladdens me to the same extent. I grieve that he is lost to me. I am joyous that he is not entirely lost to us all. A part of him, a part of his core, lives on in you.”

“He really hated what he became at the end. Russandol and he had a terrible fight after the ships were torched. I tried to intervene. But they were both too furious”, Macalaurë’s voice faltered, “Father slapped Russandol. For a moment, I thought that my brother would do the unthinkable and slap him back. But then, he simply stood aside. Father asked him to take up a torch and set fire to the boats. Russandol said that not even the threat of a death by fire would induce him to obey father. They were not talking to each other after that. And when”, my nephew looked at the placidly shimmering water, “father fell, they were still not on good terms. Russandol regretted that heavily. He hated the kinslayings, the exile, the oath, torching the ships… So when the envoy came, I think he just wanted to die and be absolved.”

I did not reply. I hoped desperately for my nephew’s survival. But the small unbiased part of me knew that he would be much broken even if all that had happened to him was mere imprisonment. Could we erase what he had suffered, what he suffered even now as his brother and I stood by a peaceful lake lamenting his plight?

* * *

“NOLOFINWË!” Findaráto was running into my bedchambers at crack of dawn.

I had not slept well. Well, to say the truth, I have not been sleeping well after my father’s death and the rest which had happened that day.

“An eagle flies above the camp”, Findaráto said excitedly, his golden features deadly pale, “And I can see that it carries an elf. Turkáno says it is Findekáno.”

“ERU!”I threw on my robes and rushed down the stairs, with Findaráto close behind me, we halted at the courtyard. Except for Macalaurë, the rest of us were all gathered there. 

“Father”, Irissë, who had the sharpest eyes of us all, murmured softly, “Tis Findekáno indeed...”

“And he is not alone”, Turkáno breathed.

As the eagle descended gracefully, I saw my son clutching to his chest something that looked more a skeleton than anything alive. Findekáno was splattered with blood. His eyes were red with crying and his lips pursed in a grim line. I think it was then that my son lost his innocence. Not even after the kinslayings had he been this affected. 

A part of me was trying to concentrate on my son alone, to not even glance at the mess that he clutched so desperately in his hands. Turkáno and Findaráto hurried to lower Findekáno’s burden, their grim faces warning me not to look upon my eldest nephew whom my valiant son had rescued. I saw Irissë scream before turning to pull Artanis away. Fëanáro’s sons were all looking appalled as they helped Findekáno to his feet. 

“Don’t touch me”, a hoarse croak in broken Quenya rose from the bundle of limp bones that Turkáno held.

My eyes widened in horror as I saw for the first time the price of his freedom. As long as I live, I will never forget the sight. Of seeing my beloved nephew, my confidant, my sparring partner and my foster-son all rolled into one, so broken and maimed. Turkáno tried to ignore him and continued into the fortress. 

“DON’T”, now it was a bare, bitter order.

Findaráto tried to soothe his cousin’s brow, but Russandol turned his head away disgustedly. 

Findekáno rubbed his eyes wearily before kneeling by his cousin and whispering, “Please, Maitimo…We must get you to a healer.”

“Maitimo indeed”, Russandol sneered as he raised his bloodied stump of a maimed arm to Findekáno’s left cheek. To my son’s credit, he did not even shudder, though unease crossed his face.

On a baser plane, I could understand well my nephew’s state of mind. He had not wanted to be rescued. He had wanted to die. But now, I was worried about his physical strength. I did not want to lose him ever again. Once had been too much for me. It was selfish, I admit…but selflessness has never been a virtue of my father’s sons.

I moved forwards and knelt before him. Caring not the least for the soiled condition he was in, I dragged him to my chest and folded my arms about him. The stench that emanated from him was overpowering and made me feel nauseous. But I boldly pressed a chaste kiss to each of his grimy cheeks and cupped his chin. His tortured grey eyes met my own. For a moment I was reminded of the vulnerable trust that had shone in them when I had been holding him for the first time. He had always trusted me, even when he had not trusted his own parents or siblings or cousins.

Russandol sighed as I held him tightly, soothing his naked back riddled with scabs and welts. It must have been painful to him, but he seemed to have lost the ability to feel pain. 

“Welcome home, Russandol”, I whispered as tears fell from my eyes onto his face, determinedly tracing clean rivulets down the grimy cheeks of my nephew. If my tears and blood were all that was required to cleanse his mind and body, I would gladly have given both.

“Nolofinwë”, he closed his eyes as his features contorted with pain, “I am sorry.”

“What for?” I asked stumped. He merely shook his head in guilt-ridden grief.

“The ships”, Findekáno whispered, “He told me that I should kill him for putting us through that ordeal on the Ice.”

“OH!” Findaráto said stunned, “Maitimo, I thought we knew each other better.”

“We will talk later”, Turkáno sighed as Russandol shook his head, “Father, get him to a healer. I will get Macalaurë.”

I lifted my nephew into my arms and carried him into my chambers. Findaráto helped me settle him into bed before the healers arrived.

* * *

I was sitting in my self-imposed vigil by my nephew’s side that night when a figure glided to the bed quietly. 

“He is asleep”, Macalaurë tentatively sat on the edge of the bed and looked down upon his sleeping brother, “If you would wish it, please, I shall stay here until you are more rested, Nolofinwë.”

I was not in need of desperate rest, and I did not want to relinquish my guard duty. But Macalaurë’s flowery tone told me volumes about his desperation to be alone with his brother. My second eldest nephew takes after Fëanáro too much; the same hiding behind ornate politeness when out of his depths. I stood up quietly and moved out of the room. I could see Macalaurë’s profile, so like Fëanáro’s, through the thin curtain. With a kind of terrible fascination that my age has not tempered, I waited and watched.

He reached out one of his artist’s hands to smoothen the unkempt, sun-burnished red tresses. Earlier they had been mahogany copper in hue. Now it was the colour of the blood we had all spilt, a grotesque reminder of our sins. 

“Russandol”, he bent to press a kiss to his brother’s forehead gently.

I was about to re-enter and tell him that he would wake his brother with his fussing about when Russandol stirred, the effects of the sedative the healers had given wearing off him. 

“Macalaurë”, his voice seemed weaker, though much less hoarser than it had been when Findekáno had brought him.

“Russandol”, Macalaurë sighed as he took his brother’s left hand in his own and kissed the palm.

I could see Russandol stiffening even from my half-hidden position. Macalaurë smiled softly as he bent down further to press a chaste kiss to his brother’s stump of a right hand.

“My dearest brother”, Macalaurë said in his soothing, melodious tones, “You are here, that is all that matters.”

“I am but half of the person I once was. I was taken to the brink of death and brought back countless times. I am not even sure that I am sane, Macalaurë”, Russandol confessed, I breathed deeply as the familiar sad, wise intensity returned to his words.

“Without you, I was insane. Our brothers left me in Nolofinwë’s care when my madness worsened”, Macalaurë said quietly.

“Then I am glad that I did not die”, Russandol said simply, “I would have sacrificed all my limbs before allowing even a hair of yours to be hurt, my brother.”

I leant against the door, closing my eyes as tears flowed down my cheeks and my throat burned in suppressed emotion upon hearing his simple statement. To me, those few words described everything that my nephew was. None of us in this wretched family could have said that and meant it, with perhaps the exception of Findaráto.

* * *

“Nolofinwë”, he murmured in quiet acknowledgement as I entered his chamber in the morning, “I was about to call for aid.”

“What is it, Russandol?” I smiled as brightly as I could while taking in the damaged body before me. He looked more elven today, but there was a strange resigned maturity about him. His grey eyes sparkled knowingly as he registered my gaze.

“I have changed, have I not?” he said quietly, “Ah, Nolofinwë, days and nights on the Thangorodrim without respite and hope do rather morph us into something less vivacious.”

“Russandol”, I said quellingly as he gave me a bitter smile, “You endured.”

“That is a different way of putting what I did…”, he said wryly, his grey eyes sparkling with ironic humour, “I was just screaming while I had the energy. And just lying limp when I no longer had the stamina to scream.”

I gripped his chin and made him look up, “You are the king now, Russandol. So you will have the personal pleasure of leading our army against the damn blackguard Morgoth. We will win.”

“I am king, aren’t I?” he said uneasily as I helped him sit up and drink the bitter draught, “You know, Nolofinwë, it is really a bad time for the Noldor, we have a king who cannot even feed and bathe himself.”

“Russandol”, I sat down beside him and ran my hand along his bruised legs, “We are a lucky people. We have a king who can endure.”

“Take up the kingship, Nolofinwë”, Russandol leant back onto the cushions and closed his eyes wearily, “I will learn to walk independently before I can even dream of ruling our people. You can do it.”

“I cannot”, I said dryly, “Remember what happened when I was king in Tirion. That is how we ended up here in the first place.”

“Findekáno told me of the tensions in the lines”, Russandol said gravely, “We must unite the people, Nolofinwë. You are in majority. And my father’s oath hangs over my brothers and me. You should take the kingship.”

“You cannot give me what is not yours to give”, I said severely, “My father named you the third of his line. You are king.”

“Do you want me alive and sane?” he asked me quietly, his eyes boring into mine. The eyes that had always made me feel less wise compared to him, “Do you want me to lead our people into a quagmire that is worse than this? To turn slowly mad in the end as Father did? I am too broken to be a king, Nolofinwë, that is the truth of it. If you wish to grant me some sort of peace, take it.”

“I cannot survive these past years’ ordeal again”, I said frankly, “Nor can Findekáno or Macalaurë.”

“Then do this for me. Take up the kingship, Nolofinwë”, he said earnestly, “I lie if I say I am being selfless. I lie if I say that I don’t want to be the ruler of the Noldor. But my dear Nolofinwë, it is a matter of worth, and of circumstance. I can only say that I am relieved it will be you. I will not abdicate in favour of any of my brothers. We have fallen low, true, but I will never voluntarily doom us further. Of us, you are the worthiest.”

“Only after you”, I whispered.

“Please”, he closed his eyes exhaustedly, “It is no longer easy to do what is right, Nolofinwë. Don’t make it harder for me.”

“Will it mean anything to heal what has happened if I say that I love you more than I do my own offspring?” I said gently.

“It means a lot. That you have not thrown me out”, he sighed, “After the ships.”

“We forgave Fëanáro long back. Why then should we even dream of reproaching you, the most innocent?” I enquired perturbed.

“You have been staring at Macalaurë”, he changed the topic swiftly, “I noticed it.”

“That is not new”, I grinned conspiratorially, “I find him quite fetching, especially when he glares.”

“He will throw a tantrum should he realize that”, Russandol smirked, “And yes, I do agree that he is adorable when he is angry.”

In view of my enlightenment on this matter, which he seemed to be still ignorant of, I could not resist asking him, “Does that mean I have company in voyeurism?”

“By Eru!” Russandol laughed helplessly, his eyes wide with good humour, “Nolofinwë, you know that Findarato and I are the girl-charming abstainers around here.”

“Findarato has been sleeping with my wife’s kin, Ecthelion”, I confided, “And even Atarinkë and Turkáno are together. I think they must be fighting than loving at nights though. So, my dearest Russandol, nothing that you or I will ever do will raise the records of our family’s depravity.”

“You did set the trend”, he shrugged.

“No, your grandfather did, he had a thing for Vanyarin women”, I said straight-faced. 

It was so easy to pretend that nothing had happened. That we were merely bantering to release the tensions of a tough day in my father’s court…

“So since you are the only one to be yet touched by lust, and you find Macalaurë adorable when angry…”I trailed off, “It isn’t like you have any reputation left to care about. None of us have.”

“Really, Nolofinwë”, Russandol pressed his sole palm to his eyes in disgust at my words, “That is crude. Macalaurë would have your hide for that!”

So he was still the naïve fool that I had been before my son alerted me to this. Perhaps I should approach Macalaurë and try then from that angle. 

 

“My Lord, Prince Turkáno has been wounded in a skirmish”, an aide rushed in.

It was not so easy to pretend that we were in my father’s court in Tirion. Russandol’s grey eyes met mine.

* * *

I have not been able to resort to my journal for the past few months. The hope born of Russandol’s recovery and the excitement surrounding his much-hyped rescue by my ‘valiant’ son is yet to die down.

Irissë talks of accompanying Findaráto on his scouting trips in the vicinity of Mithrim and beyond. I tried dissuading her. But she takes after me. The more she is opposed, the more determined she becomes to see her will done.

Turkáno often accompanies Tyelkormo and Atarinkë on their hunting trips. I have never been able to find out what my supposedly wise son sees in Atarinkë. But who am I to question him when my own choices were decidedly more peculiar? Atleast, he has given up on advising me on state matters.

Findekáno is devoted to his eldest cousin. Predictable. And I am glad of that. Of the rest of us, Artanis learns more of the Sindarin traditions and healing methods. She is a silent support to me. Unlike Irissë’s high-spiritedness, Artanis’s temperament is matured and calm. As she was the closest to her father, I have felt guilty and sad that she chose us over him. 

I try to be a good foster-father to all my nephews and to Artanis. While Findaráto and Artanis accept my worrying over them with cool maturity, my half-brother’s sons have not taken so well to it. Macalaurë has never been affectionate or companionable. He is as he has always been, keeping to himself, except for matters involving Russandol. However, he is not averse to helping me with concerns of the administration. He has a steadier rapport with his cousins than with his own siblings. Which is not surprising from my long experience of the younger Fëanorions.

Russandol…Where shall I begin? It has been a miraculous journey from the emaciated, maimed arrival in his cousin’s arms to the fiercely independent, wise soul who has emerged in the last few months. My dearest nephew is no longer the person he was before his father’s madness. But atleast, he has turned stronger where lesser souls would have been broken.

* * *

“I see that you have taken to your journals again, Nolofinwë”, Russandol’s voice was curious.

“Yes”, I smiled as I moved to make a space for him on my campbed, “My journal has proved to be a worthy companion who doesn’t mind my relentless ranting.”

“Then it is well that I keep no journal”, he sighed as he looked about the tent entrance before climbing onto the bed cautiously and resting his head in my lap, “No journal could probably bear my turmoil.”

My hands moved over his shoulder-length newly-grown hair in an involuntary gesture to soothe him as I once used to do while he was but a mere babe in my hands. I had held him and lulled to sleep while his parents were at the forge. I felt a constriction about my chest when I thought of Fëanáro. I had never learnt to hate him. But how I grieved at his madness that had wrought such destruction upon us all; particularly on those who loved him the most. The greatest consequence of his ill-thought actions lies now in the form of a wounded, weary survivor tossing about restlessly on my lap.

“Russandol”, I murmured as I looked down into those exhausted, wise grey eyes, “If you had wanted my company, you could have sent for me. It will do you no good to trudge about the camp.”

“I am weary of doing nothing but listening to Findekáno play the harp and Macalaurë sing”, he muttered as he adjusted the sling over his maimed arm with his still clumsy left hand, “I was thinking of starting my swordsmanship anew with this”, he waved the fingers of his left hand absently.

“Russandol”, I began, then halted thoughtfully, my nephew has never been idle for his entire life. He is like Findaráto with absolutely no interest in hunting or sex. He appreciates music, but is not addicted to it. He has always been a thinker, an administrator and a ruler. I knew well that he was not recovered. But had I discouraged him, what if it broke the little fragile hope he had?

“I think you should take up the sword then”, I continued firmly, his grey eyes flashed with sudden wistful longing at my words.

“I am sure you will prove the master at it”, I said confidently. 

Lying is an art I have learnt to excel in. One needs it to survive this family. I have never lied to my half-brother or Russandol before in my life. But now, I knew instinctively that I would have to lie to help him regain his confidence. He would never be good with his sole hand as he had been before Thangorodrim. I will never tell him that. For him, I was not above lying. Once again I am reminded of the depth of my love for Fëanáro’s firstborn.

“Thank you”, he whispered as he averted his eyes, which had become suddenly lustrous. 

He has never cried, except in his nightmares. And nightmares torment him each night he feels bold enough to rest without draining down a sleeping potion. The things that he shouts during his nightmares pierce my heart. I would stand by the lake, silently grieving as he screams in fear and remembered pain while Macalaurë and Findekáno try to calm him down. Being of my father’s blood, Russandol too has the vice of pride. He never consents to speak of his nightmares or ordeals endured on the Thangorodrim. We are reluctant to question him directly. 

If pride is all that he has left, then perhaps pride might be his salvation.

* * *

I wandered through the camp, keeping a sharp eye on Atarinkë and Carnistro who had earlier walked out after a terrific argument with Findekáno in the practice ring. My son seems to be excited by his newfound ‘Valiant’ status. There is no other reason why he would willingly enter an argument with Carnistro, who is the worst-tempered of us even in the best of times. Even Fëanáro…Fëanáro.

Forgive me, I digress. Am I starting to sound like Arafinwë? The coward, ruling the lands of my father, that he should have rightly ruled. I hope that the Noldor of Valinor see sense someday and know him for the usurper he is.

“Maitimo”, Atarinkë strode into the paddock where Russandol was grooming his stallion, a magnificent beast that I had gifted him. It was feeble payback for the generous gift of a herd that he had made to our host. Still, the horse was gentle and patient. He could relearn the art of horsemanship at his own pleasure.

Russandol looked up at his siblings with mild curiosity, pausing in his grooming task. I hurried over, concerned by the dark expression on Carnistro’s face. I stood in the shadow of the nearest tent, waiting to interrupt if they had a confrontation. I have always been fiercely protective of Russandol and now, I find myself even more so.

“What right have you to even consider giving the Kingship of our house to Nolofinwë?” Atarinkë asked angrily, “And you did not even have the courtesy of including us in your councils.”

“Nolofinwë is the patriarch of our house”, Russandol remarked gently. 

He has always been gentle with his brothers. I was once more reminded of the blood of Míriel Serindë that flowed in his veins.

“I refuse to accept that!” Atarinkë snarled, “And the day I see our crown on uncle’s head, I shall burn in my own forge!”

“Brother”, Russandol began remonstrating with a patience that I am sure that nobody else in our house would have shown, “As you did not refuse his aid while we were losing in the ports of Alqualondë, you can hardly complain! More than one of us owes our lives to him. Even if it wasn’t so, the fact that he was father’s blood-brother should entitle him to the crown of our house.”

“Blood-brother?” Carnistro said quietly, “Would you sleep with a blood-brother, Maitimo?”

A sick feeling rose in my chest. Would you sleep with a blood-brother? Russandol put down his currying comb and leant against the fence, his tall, spare, emaciated frame so different from his siblings’ healthy, well-formed bodies and glossy raven hair. My dear nephew might have looked incongruous with his blood-red hair and maimed arm, but for those wise grey eyes that still held wisdom and patience. There was an underlying nobility about his frame that neither his father’s madness nor his captivity could break.

“I would not be too quick in making such accusations”, Russandol replied calmly.

“Mean you what, Maitimo?” Curufun frowned, his black eyes, his father’s eyes flashing in anger. 

“It is a case of the pot calling the kettle black”, Russandol said quietly, “You know well that father was as active a participant in that as was our uncle. It is the same as your relations with Turkáno.”

“Maitimo!” Carnistro spoke stunned, “You have never interfered in our personal affairs before.”

“And I have no intentions of doing so in the future”, Russandol said amusedly, “I would be driven to madness if I took it upon myself to trace the conjugal relations of our depraved family. I merely wish that you would accept my decisions in the matters of our house. I am the eldest.”

“You are unwell”, Carnistro remarked coldly, his habitual callousness making a sudden reappearance, “And unlikely to recover anytime soon.”

“Carnistro!” Atarinkë hissed in shock at his brother’s cruelty. 

Atarinkë is brash and outspoken with little regard for respect or decorum. But he has merely inherited his father’s temperament and cannot be blamed for that. But Carnistro, I have always harboured a deep resentment for him.

“I would suggest that the two of you make your way to the training yards and spar. Work out your anger”, Russandol said quietly. 

His face was a study in calmness, but I, who has seen his every mood, can well sense his insecurity and desperation. I decided to not approach him though Atarinkë and Carnistro had hastily made their departure. He would not welcome prying now, however sincere my motives were. I would settle for keeping an eye on him.

“Russandol”, Macalaurë strode in briskly, “What are you doing here? You should not stand underneath the midday sun for such long periods.”

“I am no maiden or new-born babe to be so cooped”, Russandol commented with the slightest acidity flavouring his tones.

“Did you have an argument with our brothers?” Macalaurë sighed, “Nothing else can make you so.”

“A wise deduction”, Russandol leant back on the railing, suppressing a wince as his body protested fiercely, “I hope that you have not come with similar motives. If my hope is to be proved wrong, then please do spare me for now. I am tired and would postpone this conversation till a better time.”

“Russandol”, Macalaurë said curtly, his eyes flashing with his father’s fire. Wistful memories rose in my mind, his stance reminded me of Fëanáro’s impassioned speeches in the court, the few times my half-brother had been persuaded to attend.

“Yes, Macalaurë”, Russandol asked softly, his eyes suddenly vulnerable as his defences lowered for the moment, “What is it? If Findekáno wishes to proclaim his love once again, I shall kill myself and be done with it. What does the fool see in me?”

“Do not jest about love and life”, Macalaurë said sternly, “He is still smitten with you as he has always been. Do not hate him for being devoted to you. And come with me, long enough have you stood in the sun.”

He walked over and pulled his brother along. Russandol relinquished his stubbornness and leant onto Macalaurë exhaustedly. I decided to make my appearance and fixed myself on his other side, inconspicuously providing him support. 

As Macalaurë entered the tent, Russandol faced me and said seriously, “I have never been more certain of anything than I have been of your regard for my father. I want you to know that you have always been the best foster-father, mentor and friend to me despite all that has happened in our family.”

“I pledged myself to your father’s side, I do the same by you. The house of Nolofinwë shall ever follow the house of Fëanáro, to the gates of Mandos and beyond if need be”, I replied solemnly.

“And beyond”, Russandol smiled weakly, “Will it come to that, Nolofinwë?”

“I have burned in your father’s fire too long. Nothing else will burn me”, I shrugged as I helped him into the tent.

That night, I thought of my half-brother with more intensity than was usual. 

I could remember him looking frankly curious when I had stared in awe at his magnificent body on the day of his marriage. 

I could remember the pride that radiated so intensely from him when he had stood beside me as our father brought a just-born Russandol from the birthing bed. 

I could remember the passion-laden kiss he had instigated in his forge mistaking me for his wife. My first taste of him…of his passion…of his spirit that burned with an all-destroying and all-purifying fire.

The day he had so rudely walked in on me in my bedchamber and the turbulent events that followed in rapid succession, the memories are burnt into my mind. Every nerve of my body still aches in memory of his passionate, all-yielding frame underneath my fingers. 

Fëanáro might have been many things, but let it never be said that he withheld anything from those he loved.

* * *

It is with mixed feelings that I take up my pen to write the events of this most momentous day in my life. 

I am The High-King Of The Noldor. 

Russandol insisted on going through with the public humiliation of the house of Fëanáro to unite the factions of the Noldor. He brought his brothers in tow and knelt before me. Tears gathered in my eyes as I saw my worthier nephew make an impassioned speech as to why he considered himself dispossessed and undeserving of Finwe’s crown and lineage.

“To you, Lord Nolofinwë, I humbly hand over the crown of my grandfather. No soul in these lands is worthier than you to be called the High-King of the valiant Noldor”, he bowed his head, the simple, yet, elegant circlet wrought by his father sparkling on his red tresses.

He raised his head again and those grey eyes met mine with determination and wistfulness in equal measure as he spoke clearly, “I pledge my alliance to you. You are my uncle, my lord and my King, Nolofinwë.”

A solitary tear burned its lonely way down my face as I spoke hoarsely, “And you are my nephew, Nelyafinwe Maitimo Fëanorion. Nothing can break the ties of blood, neither betrayal nor madness. The house of Nolofinwë shall always follow the house of Fëanáro.”

With that, I placed my father’s crown on my head and stooped down to help my nephew to his feet. We embraced. Over his shoulder, I could see the unhappy features of his younger siblings. Macalaurë alone stood to the side, speaking softly to Artanis.

I watched my family carefully during the feast. Findekáno was speaking earnestly with Carnistro, I hoped sincerely that they would not brawl. Atarinke and Turkáno were sitting next to each other, their voices low in conversation. Once again, I wondered about the nature of their relationship. Russandol was speaking with Tyelkormo and Irissë, his features set in a deep frown. They appeared to debating something. I made a mental point to stay away from Irissë. My daughter has a time-proven way of getting on my nerves.

“Nolofinwë”, Findaráto had come to my side, “It is going well so far, is it not?”

“Too well in my opinion. Though these stage-managed performances have never boded well for our family”, I remarked as I turned to face him.

His golden Vanyarin features constitute the major reason why I have never liked him as much as I like my other nephews. He is a noble soul, but…I have always hated Vanyarin blood. Maybe it is the fact that my father discarded his vows in favour of a Vanyarin woman. Or perhaps of the fact that my wife first cheated on me with a Vanyarin lover. 

“I wonder if Russandol is recovered enough to attend this”, he said concernedly as he watched Russandol arguing with my imperturbable daughter. Tyelkormo seemed to have beaten a hasty retreat to join the Ambarussa and the younger siblings of Findaráto at the banquet tables.

“He was most insistent on getting it over with”, I informed him, “What of your plans to explore the lands? I do wish that you would not take Irissë along, she is too high-spirited unlike Artanis.”

“Artanis wishes to stay with Russandol until he is fully recovered…”, he commented lazily sipping his wine, “And Irissë is coming along because she wishes to spend more time with Turkáno’s new advisor, Glorfindel”, he waved towards Tyelkormo, “She wishes to stoke the spirit of jealousy. I do hope she doesn’t take it too high. Fëanorions are said to be destructively possessive”, he chuckled at his own joke, “Of course you would know that, wouldn’t you, Nolofinwë?”

“I wouldn’t”, I retorted, “But I am sure that the Fëanorions are immensely possess-able. Where is that seneschal of yours, Ecthelion, was it not?”

“He is loitering about”, Findaráto leant back against the wall, his golden features looking remarkably naïve, “I will find him then, have a good time, Nolofinwë.”

* * *

I feel lonely. Since Fëanáro’s exile, loneliness has become a part of what I am. Now I stand by the lake gazing at the clear reflection of the moon in the water. I find company in Macalaurë during these long vigils.

“How did you do it?” he asked me one cold night, even as Russandol’s howls of fear rent the air followed by melodious, soothing notes on Findekáno’s harp.

“Do what?” I asked absently as I stared at the distant peaks of the Thangorodrim, the maker of which had claimed all that was dear to me...the exile from my home, the murder of my father, the torments of my nephew and the fall of my half-brother. 

“See someone you love beyond all walk the ridge between sanity and madness and yet, stand aside helplessly because you are afraid to reveal the monster in you”, he said in a low voice.

I glanced at him, his features were waxen and wilting in the cold moonlight. He looked as spectral as death warmed over. Should I have told him to reveal his secret to Russandol? Perhaps, it would have eased Macalaurë’s self-recrimination. But I am selfish. I loved Russandol more and wanted to spare him the burden of making personal decisions right now. Let Macalaurë bear the silent grief and longing alone. I know that Russandol would have been appalled if he was told the exact reason behind his beloved brother’s tender care.

For a moment, I shuddered at his skeletal, gaunt form before saying in an alarmed tone, “You must not give in, Macalaurë . It is the curse on our house!”

“I think so”, he said uneasily, “Even the most noble of us like Findarato have succumbed to lower emotions like lust after the curse.”

“Don’t be gloomy”, I corrected him, “I was attracted to your father starting from the day of his marriage. Lust is not a lower emotion; it often leads to love.”

“There is a fine line between lust and love, Nolofinwë”, Macalaurë sighed as he turned back to leave, “And not all of us are blessed enough to experience both.”

* * *

I pity Macalaurë, for I have been in the same situation for long years. And truly, I hate Macalaurë sometimes for what he reminds me of. He invokes in me memories of a soul I love above all. 

But I do not regret my decision in counselling him to keep his desires a secret. Perhaps, if Russandol had been as volatile and passionate as his father, Macalaurë might have stood a chance in love. As Russandol is more inhibited and a stickler for court-customs, I think it wiser to let what lay concealed stay concealed.

* * *

Findekáno has joined Russandol in Himring. Irissë is with Turkáno. I take it that Tyelkormo and my daughter have fought again. It must be a severe argument if she felt compelled to join her brother in Gondolin instead of coming to me. I feel sad that she could not trust me enough to return. Perhaps, I love her most amongst my children. It is sheer idiocy to believe that parents love all their children equally. They never do. To me, my daughter reminds me of my half-brother. The same sharp Noldorin features, the same fiery pride and unpredictability. I suppose that is why I love her so.

Turkáno has never visited me after building his fortress in the mountain fastness that is Gondolin. I hear it is a magnificent city. I am glad, that at least my ambitious younger son has escaped the destruction of the curse. I could not forget the fact that Atarinkë and Turkáno had been bitter when Ulmo had commanded my son to build his city. Atarinkë could not go with him. They fear that they will never have a chance to meet again. 

I have had no news of Macalaurë . He is fine, I daresay. From Russandol, though there have been long epistles. From the tone of his letters, he misses me as much as I miss him. 

“Nolofinwë”, I turned to find Artanis, she is as alone as I am. I regret her choices. She should have returned with her father, my coward of a brother. 

“Yes, Artanis?” I smiled at her. 

Atleast my constant badgering has improved her health, I pester her to eat and rest. Together we manage the council affairs and the matters of the kingdom. She will one day become a wise counsellor, leader and ruler. I see much of Russandol in her. 

“There is news from Maitimo”, she said grimly, not returning my smile, “He says that his brother has been searching high and low for Irissë for months. They are yet to find her escort.”

“She said that she would be staying in Gondolin”, I informed her. “She does not wish to come home until her Fëanorion is rotting in Mandos, according to the charming letter I had from Turkáno.”

Artanis ’s lips crooked in a reluctant smile before she handed a sealed scroll to me, “From Maitimo, he wishes to have an immediate reply. The courier waits.”

“I shall”, I nodded to her, “Make sure that the horse and messenger are well-rested. And while you are at it, ask him what my first-born is up to?”

After she left, shutting the door behind her softly as was her way, I leant back in my chair and broke my nephew’s seal, the seal my half-brother had wrought, the stars of Fëanáro. I shook off my brooding thoughts and unscrolled the letter. The familiar curved hand of my nephew greeted me. His hand was no longer elegant as it had been before Thangorodrim. I suppose that to write the complicated script with the left hand must be a painstaking activity though I have never heard Russandol complain.

 

“My Dearest Nolofinwë,

I hope this letter finds you well and hale. Findekáno is with me. He has been a wonderful companion this cold winter in Himring. I freely confess that I had been brooding before his arrival. But now, we ride and hunt together. I shall be sad when he leaves after the season.

My brothers visit me occasionally. Macalaurë, though, is much occupied with the defences of his lands and I have not seen him since my coming to Himring. I suppose I shall have to journey there. I know you would chastise me, since you have been asking me to come for many a month. But, Nolofinwë, I feel that I am meant to be in Himring. On this cold mountain, I have found peace. Everyday as I rise, I see the cragged peaks of Morgoth. They remind me of what I have lost, true. But they also remind me of what I have found, of courage and endurance. 

I hear from Findekáno that Artanis helps you rule. Nolofinwë, I am glad that you are not alone. But, I do wish that Artanis comes here, or joins Findaráto in his caves. She is lonely, and lingers in the memories of her past. Macalaurë has always regretted that he could not be what she wanted him to be. She deserves better than one from our family. Let her join Findaráto in Nargothond. 

I have been worried about Irissë. My brother says that they had a falling out regarding something private. And that is common enough. She rode off alone to join her brother in Gondolin. I had a letter from Turkáno after that. He was telling me about her black temper. I did wonder why she went there. Could she not have come to me, as she has done many a time in the past? Could she not have returned to Artanis and you? I feared that her high-spirit would not be restful in the walled city of her brother. 

And my fears were proved true. I had a missive from Turkáno, asking me to tell my brother that Irissë had ridden out for his lands. I am worried, Nolofinwë. I wrote to Findaráto to meet her at the head of the Girdle of the Maia. But he was late. The guardians of Doriath told him that she rode off into the paths of Dorthonion. 

I have asked Findaráto to send warriors into the paths and to bring her to Nargothond. Nolofinwë, I think it would be better if you let Artanis and Irissë come to Himring for the next spring. Unlike what people say, this is a beautiful place. I agree there are some disadvantages in rising at dawn and seeing the rocks of Thangorodrim. But except for that, Himring is as wonderful as the hills of Tanequetil. 

I will write again when I receive a reply from Findaráto . Writing to Turkáno is a pain. I have to beg those eagles to deliver the missives. They are kind, but still…I have to beg. I promise to have Irissë safely escorted to you. Spare her the tongue-lashing you would have in store. She was merely following my illustrious father’s footsteps. And tell her that Findekáno has hung the horseshoe above my castle trapdoor in Himring. He has always had strange ideas. I will try to keep him here. I know how much the two of you inconvenience each other. Yes, he did tell me about the time when he walked into his favourite courtesan’s chambers and found you sprawled with the said courtesan in a very immoral position.

I might journey to see Macalaurë and his wife. I miss my brother. I know I have six brothers, but I have always considered only Macalaurë as my blood brother.

The stars shine down upon my balcony in the castle, my warriors sit around a roaring fire, sharing Naugrim ale and telling tales. I watch them boisterously dance with the maidens who giggle and swoon coyly. I wish I were there with them, Unfortunately, I have promised a private audience for your son. He will play the harp. I should never encouraged him in our youth with that inane flattery, I am paying thrice over for my mistake,

I remain your dear nephew,  
Russandol.”

 

I frowned in worry as I read about my daughter’s rashness. Irissë was impulsive and hard to reason with. I had made a mistake to assume that Turkáno would have been able to smooth her rashness. I should have sent her to Russandol. He has a way with him that makes people honour his counsel. 

Well, there was nothing I could do until she was safely escorted back to me by Findaráto . Despite all that Russandol advised, I find myself thinking of the tongue-lashing I would gift my daughter. 

For I have lost enough, and will not let more that which I love be taken from me.

* * *

I find myself considering Artanis as a companion and friend. Her wisdom and maturity betrays nothing of her youth. We often talk of deep philosophy and obscure tales. I find myself enjoying her company. Of course, there is none of Russandol’ innate brilliance and compassion in her. But she is understanding and non-judgmental, attributes I respect and admire. I am concerned that my company might deprive her of making acquaintances of her own age and gender. I try to let her have a free rein, but she rarely ventures out of the mansion.

* * *

“FATHER!” Findekáno’s voice greeted me. I looked up to find the handsome features of my heir and first-born set in a worried expression.

“Findekáno”, I rose to greet him, “I am glad to have you back, safe and hale”, I embraced him gratefully.

If anyone had told me back then in Valinor that I would turn into such a protective parent, I would have sneered at them. Then I had never understood my half-brother’s fierce over-protectiveness of his sons. I think I have always been protective of Russandol, but then he has been closer to me in heart than to his father in blood. After all that we have been through, I now find myself worse than a nursing mother. My protectiveness has extended to all my nephews, my niece and of course, my children. Even Carnistro, I torment with letters of enquiry every month. I wonder what he thinks of that. But then, he has long called me insane.

“Father”, Findekáno pulled back and met my eyes with apprehension, “Findaráto has not been able to find Irissë yet. There are tales that…”

* * *

“You must let me in, Nolofinwë”, Artanis’s voice was close to pleading. 

Remarkable, I mused sarcastically. I have never heard her using that tone before. So, even she has learnt to beg. How low our House has fallen!

“Father”, Findekáno’s voice was rough, as if he had been drinking more than usual, I felt a flutter of concern rise in my mind. Findekáno could never be steady under drink. I hoped that he would not create a ruckus in the house.

I did not heed their earnest request and remained within my barred study, dully contemplating the wild flames in the hearth. As wild as my daughter had been, as wild as my Fëanáro had been. I stood there, watching the flames die out into embers.

As the dawn broke over the heavy skies, I heard a high-pitched scream, hastily stifled. I sighed, somewhere in the mansion, someone was having a wild night. My daughter…Irissë’s screams of encouragement and pleasure when she was with Tyelkormo would resound through the entire mansion. No wonder he had preferred to spend time with her in the woods.

* * *

I have barely any recollection of my life over the following few months. Artanis had stopped pleading outside my door. But someone, I assumed it was her, left food, firewood and water on my doorstep. There would be a knock and then retreating footsteps….and silence.

I do not know what I was grieving, perhaps I was grieving for my daughter, perhaps I was mourning my brother. Perhaps I was mourning the hundreds of lives destroyed in the wake of my brother’s quest for the Silmarils. Perhaps I was mourning all of that. 

Perhaps I shall never end my mourning.

* * *

“THAT IS ENOUGH”, I heard a familiar voice say commandingly, “Open your door, Nolofinwë.”

“You”, I whispered brokenly as I struggled to my feet from my position before the fire, “When did you come?”

“My dear Nolofinwë”, the voice continued exasperatedly, “Open your hallowed doors and I will tell you.”

I complied, noticing the numbness in my limbs. I had probably been dying a slow death all these days. 

“Nolofinwë!” Russandol sighed in concern as he entered and closed the door behind him, “It stinks worse than a rotten pigsty in here.”

I noticed that his robes hung loosely on him. He looked as gaunt as Macalaurë had been during Russandol’ recovery from Thangorodrim. There were dark circles underneath his grey eyes, which looked permanently haunted. His hair shone a dull, blood red in the dim dusk sun. He pushed me into my chair and then knelt before me, placing his hand on my thigh.

“Any news?” I whispered hoarsely, still clinging to my hopes, “You promised that you would bring her to me.”

His eyes darkened with pain and he shook his head silently. I took a deep breath and placed my hand over his, squeezing tightly.

“I suppose I did this to make you come”, I offered weakly, “There was nothing else that I could think to make you return to me.”

“You scared me”, he sighed and rested his head on my knees, “Nolofinwë, I have been in the wilds all these months searching for her. Few dare to ride into the haunted paths of Dorthonion and Findaráto asked me to lead the warriors. I have been riding on her trail for days. Then Findekáno sent for me. He said I had to come. And I am glad I did, I shudder to think what condition you might have reduced yourself to if I had been late.”

“What news of my child?” I asked him hollowly, “I would not have her decaying in these lands, unburied and uncremated.”

“She will be found”, Russandol said slowly, his grey eyes shining with conviction, “I promise you. My brother says that he believes she is not dead”, I stared at him in wild hope, he nodded, “They are bound, after all. He would know. Please, Nolofinwë, let go of this self-loathing and join us. We shall find her.”

* * *

I returned to the affairs of my kingdom. It was been one week or so after the end of my hiatus. Artanis was glad to see me, I think, but her pallor and weary expression frightened me. She seemed content to be alone, not even letting me draw her into a conversation. Russandol had taken on the administration and the official matters, leaving me to cope with my inner turmoil. He managed to find time to walk with me around the periphery of the Mithrim. Findekáno had taken charge of the borders with his characteristic valour.

I had been returning after one long, lonely walk when I heard Russandol’ voice, low and soothing, “Artanis, you do know that you can trust me.”

“That is what he told me”, Artanis’s voice was cold and impersonal, “That I was safe with him.”

“Artanis”, Russandol’ voice was reassuring and warm, “I would be your confidant. Tell me. I would never forgive myself if it were to destroy you.”

“He raped me”, Artanis’s voice was colder and precise, I felt a wrenching pain constricting my heart, “He was drunk. His father was in mourning. He did not even know it was I. He called out the name of his eldest cousin as he took his pleasure from me.”

I tasted the coppery taste of blood as I bit down hard on my lips. Stop, I begged her silently, stop now.

“It is my fault”, Russandol’ voice was raw with emotion, “He loses control when he is drunk. Many a time has he tried to force himself on me after indulging in the drink. I did not fear that he would do it to anyone else….if I had known.”

“I sent for you, for I could no longer bear it”, she continued in the same flat voice, “He did not look at me once with regret. I did not matter, my pain did not matter. I would not have despised it so if he had at least been more understanding. It took my body weeks to heal.”

“I will escort you to Nargothond”, Russandol said resolutely, “Stay no longer here.”

“I wish to come with you”, she said quietly, “You and I have never been close. But at the moment, I feel you are the only one who can know what I feel.”

“I know”, his voice was hesitant, “I have never spoken of this with anyone else, Artanis. But I shall do so now. But I fear that you might never look upon me the same way again.”

I felt the blood rise in my veins, he had never told what had happened. He had never found the courage to do that. And there was pride.

“I was captured and taken to his lair”, his voice was deliberately detached, “I will not speak of all that happened there. But I was nearly mad and did not even remember my name by the time they had finished with me. Hazy memories of being torn apart, of blood between the legs, of the shame that conquered me when they brought me to irresistible pleasure. Over and over again, until they were sure that I was mad through and through. Thangorodrim, actually, barely stirs my nightmares. Compared to the rest of my experiences, being suspended from there was quite dull and unexciting.”

I heard muffled sobs, as my niece broke apart finally. The days had taken their toll on her. Macalaurë, Irissë, Findekáno, and I, we have all broken her in our own ways. I stood helplessly as Russandol and Artanis crossed me, his sole hand holding her to him reassuringly.

* * *

I stood alone in the courtyard as I bid my nephew goodbye. Artanis plans to go to Himring with him. I have no qualms on letting her leave. If she did not wish to go to her brother, then Russandol would have been my choice too. I know that there is nothing I could do to dispel her memories.

As I watched the red hair of my nephew and the golden tresses of my part-Vanyarin niece, I sighed. When would I see them again?

* * *

My dreams are haunted by screams, blood and corpses. I see Irissë wandering despairingly in a dark forest, seeking to escape something. I see Turkáno standing with his sword aloft, walls crumbling about him. I see Findekáno riding to battle, and a great shadow falling upon him. I see Russandol standing on the edge of fire, contemplating the flames bitterly. I see Macalaurë standing on a seashore, his face calm and serene. I see Artanis …She is alone, weary and yet, defiant. 

I see Fëanáro, he calls to me, his brilliant black eyes shining with his irresistible fire. 

And I wake up, to find they were but dreams.

* * *

“MY LORD!” one of my warriors rushed in, “The lands are beset. Lord Findekáno is cut off from the Fëanorion armies of Lord Tyelkormo and Lord Atarinkë. Lord Cirdan tries to hold the paths. The Girdle of Melian still holds. Lord Finrod hopes to succour Lords Tyelkormo and Atarinkë. Lord Carnistro is with the Green-elves. Lord Macalaurë has lost his lands, they say, the wrath of Glaurung has been fierce.”

“Himring”, I barked as I mounted my stallion, “What of it?”

“Lord Maitimo holds the paths of Aglon. He waits for Lord Macalaurë’s retreat eastwards to Himring”, the warrior said pensively, “Glaurung will not move towards Himring. Lord Russandol is much feared by the enemy. Lord Findekáno is in danger.”

I have had enough. Morgoth Bauglir shall pay.

Revenge, for all that I have borne. I hate all the Valar. But Morgoth remains the only one I can fight. And I shall fight him. Even should I fail, I will return to where I truly belong, with my brother. With Fëanáro.

Thus ends the Journal of Nolofinwë, The High-King of The Exiled Noldor of Middle-Earth.

* * *

**Entry by Findekáno, called The Valiant, High-King of the Noldor, son of Nolofinwë.**

I send this journal to my cousin in Himring. My father would have wished it so, for always, Nolofinwë had considered Nelyafinwë as his heir and first-born.

* * *


End file.
